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CHILDREN OF THE SOIL 


» 




















THE WORKS 


OF 
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 


TRANSLATED BY JEREMIAH CURTIN. 





HANIA. 1 vol. a 
YANKO THE MUSICIAN, and Other Stories. 
t vol. 
LILLIAN MORRIS, and Other Stories. 1 vol. 
—_o— 


Pistorical Romances. 
POLAND, TURKEY, RUSSIA, AND SWEDEN. 
WITH FIRE AND SWORD. 1 vol. 
THE DELUGE. 2 vols. 
PAN MICHAEL. 1 vol. 
ROME IN THE TIME OF NERO. 
“QUO VADIS.” 1 vol. 
eS 
Nobels of (ovdern Boland. 
CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 1 vol. 


WITHOUT DOGMA. (Translated by Iza 
Young.) 1 vol. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


BY 


HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ, 
AUTHOR OF 


‘(WITH FIRE AND SWORD,” ‘‘THE DELUGE,” ‘‘'PAN MICHAEL,” 
‘(WITHOUT DOGMA,” ‘‘YANKO THE MUSICIAN,”’ 
“TILLIAN MORRIS,”’ ETC. 


AUTHORIZED AND UNABRIDGED TRANSLATION FROM 
THE POLISH BY 


JEREMIAH CURTIN. 


BOSTON: 
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. 
1898. 


Copyright, 18965, 
By Jeremian Currin. 





All rights reserved. 


Ghiiversity ress: 


Joun WiLson anv Son, CamBriwee, U.S.A. 


Ty 


TO HIS EXCELLENCY, 


HON. FREDERIC T. GREENHALGE, 


Governor of (Massachusetts, 


Srr, —You are at the head of a Commonwealth renowned for 
mental culture; you esteem the Slav Race and delight in good 
literature ;—to you I beg to dedicate this volume, in the hope 
that it will give pleasure to you and to others in that State which 


you govern so acceptably, 


i JEREMIAH CURTIN 
et, 

sp . WARREN, VERMONT, 
SS April 19, 1896. 

ASN. 


688690 





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From the author of “‘QUO VADIS.’’ 


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INTRODUCTORY STATEMENT. 





THE title of this book in the original is Rodzina Pola- 
nieckich (The Family of the Polanyetskis); “Children 
of the Soil” has been substituted, because of the difficulty 
of the Polish title for American and English readers, 
because the Polanyetskis are called children of the soil in 
the text of the volume, and because all the other char- 
acters are children of the soil in the same sense. 

For most readers this book will have a double interest, 
— the interest attaching to a picture of Polish life, and 
the general human interest inseparable from characters 
like those presented in the narrative of Pan Stanislav’s 
fortunes. 

The Poles form a part of the great Slav race, which has 
played so important a role in the world’s history already, 
and which is destined to play a far more important one 
yet in the future. 

The argument involved in the career and meditations 
of Pan Stanislav is of interest to every person in civil- 
ized society ; it is an argument presented so clearly, and 
reinforced with such pointed examples, that neither com- 
ment nor explanation is needed. 

Were it not for the change of title, I might escape even 
this brief statement ; but now I may add that the follow- 
ing translation was made in many places, in different 
countries, at various intervals, and at moments snatched 


x INTRODUCTORY STATEMENT. 


from other work. I began “Children of the Soil” in 
Cahirciveen, Ireland, and continued it in London, Edin- 
burgh, Fort William near the foot of Ben Nevis, Rome, 
Naples, and Florence, Tsarskoe Selo, Russia, and South 
Uist, an island of the Outer Hebrides. From the Outer 
Hebrides I was called home before I wished to come, and 
left that little granite kingdom in the Atlantic with 
sincere regret. 

The translation was finished in Warren, Vermont, and 
revised carefully. To new readers of Sienkiewicz I may 
state that Pan, Pani, and Panna, when prefixed to names, 
mean Mr., Mrs., and Miss respectively 


JEREMIAH CURTIN. 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 





CHAPTER I. 


Ir was the first hour after midnight when Pan Stanislav 
Polanyetski was approaching the residence in Kremen. 
During years of childhood he had been twice in that village, 
when his mother, a distant relative of the present owner 
of Kremen, was taking him home for vacation. Pan Stan- 
islav tried to remember the place, but to do so was difficult. 
At night, by the light of the moon, everything took on an 
uncertain form. Over the bushes, fields, and meadows, a 
white mist was lying low, changing the whole region about 
into a shoreless lake, as 1t were, —an illusion increased by 
choruses of frogs in the mist. 

It was a July night, very calm and perfectly bright. At 
moments, when the frogs became silent, landrails were 
heard playing in the dew; and at times, from afar, from 
muddy ponds, hidden behind reeds, the call of the bittern 
sounded as if coming from under the earth. 

Pan Stanislav could not resist the charm of that night. 
It seemed to him familiar in some way; and that familiarity 
he felt all the more, since he had returned only the previous 
year from abroad, where he had spent his first youth and 
had become engaged afterward in mercantile matters. Now, 
while entering that sleeping village, he recalled his child- 
hood, memorable through his mother, now five years dead, 
and because the bitterness and cares of that childhood, 
compared with the present, seemed perfect bliss to him. 

At last the brichka rolled up toward the village, which 
began with across standing on a sand mound. ‘The eross, 
inclining greatly, seemed ready to fall. Pan Stanislav 
remembered it because in his time under that mound had 
been buried a man found hanging from a limb in the 

1 


2 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


neighboring forest, and afterward people were afraid to 
pass by that spot in the night-time. 

Beyond the cross were the first cottages, but the people 
were sleeping; there was no light in any window. As tar 
as the eye could reach, only roofs of cottages were gleaming 
on the night background of the sky, lighted up by the moon, 
and the roofs appeared silvery and blue. Some cottages 
were washed with lime and seemed bright green; others, 
hidden in plum orchards, in thickets of suntlowers or pole 
beans, barely came out of the shadow. In the yards, dogs 
barked, but in their sleep, as it were, accompanying the 
croaking of frogs, the calling of landrails and bitterns, and 
all those sounds with which a summer night speaks, and 
which strengthen the impression of silence still more. 

The brichka, moving slowly along the soft sandy road, 
entered at last a dark alley, spotted only here and there 
by the moonlight, which pushed in between the leaves. 
Beyond the alley, night watches whistled ; and in the open 
was seen a white dwelling, in which some windows were 
lighted. When the brichka rattled up to the entrance, a 
serving-man hurried out of the house and began to assist 
Pan Stanislav to alight; but in addition the night watch 
appeared and two white dogs, evidently very young and 
friendly, for, instead of barking, they began to fawn and 
to spring on the guest, showing such delight at his coming 
that the watch had to moderate their effusiveness with a 
stick. 

The man took Pan Stanislav’s things from the brichka, 
and after a moment the guest found himself in a dining- 
room where tea was waiting. Nothing had changed from 
the time of his childhood. At one wall was a sideboard in 
walnut; at one end of this a clock with heavy weights and 
a cuckoo; at the other were two badly painted portraits of 
women in robes of the eighteenth century ; in the centre 
of the room stood a table with a white cloth, and surrounded 
by chairs with high arms. That room, lighted brightly, full 
of steam rising from a samovar, seemed rather hospitable 
and gladsome. 

Pan Stanislav began to walk along the side of the table; 
but the squeaking of his boots struck him in that silence, 
therefore: he went to the window and looked through the 
panes at the yard filled with moonlight. Over this yard the 
two white dogs, which had greeted him so effusively, were 
chasing each other. 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 8 


After a time the door of the next room opened, and a 
young lady entered in whom Pan Stanislav divined the 
daughter of the master of Kremen by his second wife; at 
sight of her he stepped from the window curtains, and, ap- 
proaching the table in his squeaking boots, bowed, and 
announced his name. ‘The young lady extended her hand, 
and said, — 

“We learned of your arrival from the despatch. Father 
is a trifle ill, and was obliged to lie down; but he will be 
glad to see you in the morning.” 

“JT am not to blame for coming so late,” answered Pan 
Stanislav ; “the train reaches Chernyov only at eleven.” 

“And from Chernyoy it is ten miles to Kremen. Father 
tells me that this is not your first visit.” 

“TI came here with my mother when you were not in the 
world yet.’ 

“T know. You are a relative of my father.” 

“Tam a relative of Pan Plavitski’s first wife.” 

“Father esteems family connections very highly, even 
the most distant,” said the young lady; and she began to 
pour out tea, pushing aside from time to time the steam, 
which, rising from the samovar, veiled her eyes. When 
conversation halted, only the tick of the clock was heard. 
Pan Stanislav, who was interested by young ladies, looked 
at Panna Plavitski carefully. She was a person of medium 
height, rather slender; she had dark hair, a face calm, but 
subdued, as it were, a complexion sunburnt somewhat, blue 
eyes, and a most shapely mouth. Altogether it was the 
face of a self-possessed and delicate woman. Pan Stanislav, 
to whom she seemed not ill-looking, but also not beautiful, 
thought that she was rather attractive ; that she might be 
good; and that under that exterior, not too brilliant, she 
might have many of those various qualities which young 
ladies in the country have usually. Though he was young, 
life had taught him one truth, — that in general women gain 
on near acquaintance, while in general men lose. He had 
heard also touching Panna Plavitski, that the whole manage- 
ment in Kremen —a place, by the way, almost ruined — lay 
on her mind, and that she was one of the most overworked 
persons on earth. With reference to those cares, which 
must weigh on her, she seemed calm and unmoved; still 
he thought that surely she must wish to sleep. This was 
evident, indeed, by her eyes, which blinked in spite of her, 
under the light of the hanging lamp. 


2 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


The examination would have come out on the whole in 
her favor, were it not that conversation dragged somewhat. 
This was explained by the fact that they saw each other 
for the first time in life ; besides, she received him alone, 
which might be awkward for a young lady. Finally, she 
knew that Pan Stanislav had not come to make a visit, but 
toask for money. Such was the case in reality. His mother 
had given, a very long time before, twelve thousand and some 
rubles for a mortgage on Kremen, which Pan Stanislav 
wished to have redeemed, — first, because there were enor- 
mous arrears of interest, and second, since he was a part- 
ner in a mercantile house in Warsaw, he had entered into 
various transactions and needed capital. He had promised 
himself beforehand to make no compromise, and to exact 
his own absolutely. In affairs of that sort, it was a point 
with him always to appear unyielding. He was not such 
by nature, perhaps; but he had made inflexibility a prin- 
ciple, and therewith a question of self-love. In conse- 
quence of this, he overshot the mark frequently, as people 
do who argue something into themselves. Hence, while 
looking at that agreeable, but evidently drowsy young lady, 
he repeated to himself, in spite of the sympathy which was 
roused in him, — 

“That is all well, but you must pay.” 

After a while he said, “I have heard that you busy your- 
self with everything ; do you like land management ? ” 

“ T love Kremen greatly,” answered she. 

“J too loved Kremen when I was a boy; but I should 
not like to manage the place, — the conditions are so 
difficult.” 

“ Difficult, difficult. . We do what we can.” 

“That is it,— you do what you ean.” 

“T assist father, who is often in poor health.” 

“Tam not skilled in those matters, but, from what I see 
and hear, I infer that the greater number of agriculturists 
cannot count on a future.” 

“We count on Providence.” 

“Of course, but people cannot send ereditors to Provi- 
dence.” 

Panna Plavitski’s face was covered with a blush; a 
moment of awkward silence followed; and Pan Stanislav 
said to himself, — 

Aion thou hast begun, proceed farther;’” and he 
said, — 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 5 


“You will permit me to explain the object of my 
coming.” 

The young lady looked at him with a glance in which he 
might read, ‘“ Thou hast come just now ; the hour is late. I 
am barely alive from fatigue: even the slightest delicacy 
might have restrained thee from beginning such a conver- 
sation.” She answered aloud, — 

“JT know why you have come; but it may be better if you 
will speak about that with my father.” 

“T beg your pardon.” 

“But I beg pardon of you. People have a right to 
mention what belongs to them, and I am accustomed to 
that; but to-day is Saturday, and on Saturday there is so 
much work. Moreover, in affairs of this sort, you will un- 
derstand — sometimes, when Jews come, I bargain with 
them; but this time I should prefer if you would speak 
with my father. It would be easier for both.” 

“Then till to-morrow,” said Pan Stanislav, who lacked 
the boldness to say that in questions of money he preferred 
to be treated like a Jew. 

“Perhaps you would permit me to pour you more 
tea?” 

“No, I thank you. Good-night.” And, rising, he ex- 
tended his hand; but the young lady gave hers far less 
cordially than at the greeting, so that he touched barely the 
ends of her fingers. In going, she said, — 

“The servant will show you the chamber.” 

And Pan Stanislav was left alone. He felt a certain dis- 
content, and was dissatisfied with himself, though he did 
not wish to acknowledge that fact in his heart. He began 
even to persuade himself that he had done well, since he 
had come hither, not to talk politely, but to get money. 
What was Panna Plavitski to him? She neither warmed 
nor chilled him. If she considered him a churl, so much 
the better; for it happens generally that the more disagree- 
able a creditor, the more people hasten to pay him. 

But his discontent was increased by that reasoning; fora 
certain voice whispered to him that this time it was not 
merely a question of good-breeding, but also in some degree 
of compassion for a wearied woman. He felt, besides, that 
by acting so urgently he was satisfying his pose, not his 
heart, all the more because she pleased him. As in that 
sleeping village and in that moonlight night he had found 
something special, so in that young lady he found some- 


6 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


thing which he had looked for in vain in foreign women, 
and which moved him more than he expected. But people 
are often ashamed of feelings which are very good. Pan 
Stanislav was ashamed of emotions, especially; hence he 
determined to be inexorable, and on the morrow to squeeze 
old Plavitski without mercy. 

Meanwhile the servant conducted him to the bed-chamber. 
Pan Stanislav dismissed him at once, and was alone. That 
was the same chamber which they gave him, when, during 
the life of Plavitski’s first wife, he came to Kremen with 
his mother; and remembrances beset him again. The 
windows looked out on a garden, beyond which lay a pond ; 
the moon was looking into the water, and the pond could 
be seen more easily than in former times, for it was hidden 
then by a great aged ash-tree, which must have been broken 
down by a storm, since on that spot there was sticking up 
merely a stump with a freshly broken piece at the top. The 
light of the moon seemed to centre on that fragment, which 
was gleaming very brightly. All this produced an impres- 
sion of great calm. Pan Stanislav, who lived in the city 
amid mereantile labors, therefore in continual tension of 
his physical and mental powers, and at the same time in 
continual unquiet, felt that condition of the country around 
him as he would a warm bath after great toil. He was 
penetrated by relief. He tried to reflect on business trans- 
actions, how were they turning, would they give loss or 
profit, finally on Bigiel, his partner, and how Bigiel would 
manage various interests in his absence, — but he could not 
continue. 

Then he began to think of Panna Plavitski. Her person, 
though it had made a good impression, was indifferent to 
him, even for this reason, that he saw her for the first 
time; but she interested him as a type. He was thirty 
years old and something more, therefore of the age in 
which instinct, with a force almost invincible, urges a man 
to establish a domestic hearth, take a wife, and have a 
family. The greatest pessimism is powerless against this 
instinct; neither art nor any calling in life protects a man 
against it. In consequence of this, misanthropes marry in 
spite of their philosophy, artists in spite of their art, as do 
all those men who declare that they give to their objects 
not a half, but a whole soul. Exceptions confirm the prin- 
ciple that, in general, men cannot live a conventional lie and 
swim against the currents of nature. For the great part, 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 7 


only those do not marry for whom the same power that 
creates marriage stands in the way of it; that is, those 
whom love has deceived. Hence, celibacy in advanced life, 
if not always, is most frequently a hidden tragedy. 

Stanislav Polanyetski was neither a misanthrope nor an 
artist; neither was he a man proclaiming theories against 
marriage. On the contrary, he wanted to marry, and he 
was convinced that he ought to marry. He felt that for 
him the time had arrived; hence he looked around for the 
woman. From that came the immense interest which 
women roused in him, especially unmarried ones. Though 
he had spent some years in France and Belgium, he had not 
sought love among married women, even among those who 
were over giddy. He was an active and occupied person, who 
contended that only idle men can romance with married 
women, and in general that besieging other men’s wives is 
possible only where men have very much money, httle 
honor, and nothing to do, consequently in a society where 
there is a whole class long since enriched, sunk in elegant 
idleness, and of dishonest life. He was himself, in truth, 
greatly occupied, hence he wished to love in order to 
marry; therefore only unmarried women roused in him 
curiosity of soul and body. When he met a young lady, 
the first question he asked himself was, “Is she not the 
woman ?” or at least, ‘“ Is she not the kind of woman?” 
At present his thoughts were circling around Panna 
Plavitski in this manner. To begin with, he had heard 
much of her from her relative living in Warsaw; and he 
had heard things that were good and even touching. Her 
calm, mild face was before his eyes now. He recalled her 
hands, very shapely, with long fingers, though somewhat 
sunburnt, her dark blue eyes, then the slight shadow over 
her mouth. Her voice too pleased him. Notwithstanding 
all this, he repeated his promise that he would make no 
compromise and must have his own; still he was angry at 
the fate which had brought him to Kremen as a creditor. 
Speaking to himself in mercantile language, he repeated in 
spirit, “The quality is good, but I will not ‘reflect,’ as I 
did not come for it.” 

Still he “reflected,” and that to such a degree that after 
he had undressed and lain down, he could not sleep for a 
long time. The cocks began to crow, the window panes 
were growing pale and green; but under his closed eyelids 
he saw yet the calm forehead of Panna Plavitski. the 


8 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


shadow over her mouth, and her hands pouring out the tea. 
Then, when sleep became overpowering, it seemed to him 
as though he were holding those hands in his own and 
drawing her toward him, and she was pulling back and 
turning her head aside, as if to escape a kiss. In the 
morning he woke late, and remembering Panna Plavitski, 
thought, “Ah, she will look like that!” 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 9 


CHAPTER II. 


He was roused by the servant, who brought coffee and 
took his clothes to be brushed. When the servant brought 
them back, Pan Stanislav asked if it were not the custom 
of the house to meet in the dining-room for coffee. 

“No,” answered the servant; “because the young lady 
rises early, and the old gentleman sleeps late.” 

“ And has the young lady risen ?” 

“The young lady is at church.” 

“True, to-day is Sunday. But does not the young lady 
go to church with the old gentleman ? ” 

“No; the old gentleman goes to high Mass, and then 
goes to visit the canon, so the young lady prefers early 
Mass.” 

“What do they do here on Sunday ? ” 

“They sit at home ; Pan Gantovski comes to dinner.” 

Pan Stanislav knew this Gantovski as a small boy. In 
those times they nicknamed him “ Little Bear,” for he was 
a thick little fellow, awkward and surly. The servant 
explained that Pan Gantovski’s father had died about five 
years before, and that the young man was managing his 
estate in the neighboring Yalbrykov. 

‘¢ And does he come here every Sunday ?” 

«Sometimes he comes on a week day in the evening.” 

“A rival!” thought Pan Stanislav. After a while he 
inquired, — 

“Has the old gentleman risen ?” 

“Tt must be that he has rung the bell, for Yozef has 
gone to him.” 

eWhoas Yozet ?” 

“The valet.” 

“And who art thou ?” 

“T am his assistant.” 

“Go and inquire when it will be possible to see the old 
gentleman.” 

The servant went out and returned soon. 

“The old gentleman sends to say that when he dresses 
he will beg you to come.” 

“Very well.” 


10 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


The servant went out; Pan Stanislav remained alone and 
waited, or rather was bored, a good while. Patience began 
to fail him at 1: ist ; and he was about to stroll to the garden, 
when Yozef came with the announcement that the old gen- 
tleman begged him to come. 

Yozef conducted him then to a chamber at the other end 
of the house. Pan Stanislav entered, and at the first 
moment did not recognize Pan Plavitski. He remembered 
him as a person in the bloom of life and very good-looking ; 
now an old man stood before him, with a face as wrinkled 
as a baked apple, —a face to which small blackened mus- 
taches strove in vain to lend the appearance of youth. Hair 
as black as the mustaches, and parted low at the side of the 
head, indicated also pretensions as yet unextinguished. 

But Plavitski opened his arms: “Stas! how art thou, 
dear boy? Come hither!” And, pointing to his white 
shirt, he embraced the head of Pan Stanislav, and pressed 
it to his bosom, which moved with quick breathing. 

The embrace continued a long time, and for Pan Stanis- 
lay, much too long. Plavitski said at last, — 

“Let me look at thee, Anna, drop for drop! My poor 
beloved Anna!” and Plavitski sobbed; then he wiped with 
his heart finger? his right eyelid, on which, however, there 
was not a tear, and repeated,— 

“ As like Anna as one drop is like another! Thy mother 
was always for me the best and the most loving relative.” 

Pan Stanislav stood before him confused, also somewhat 
stunned by a reception such as he had not expected, and 
by the odor of wax, powder, and various perfumes, which 
came from the face, mustaches, and shirt of the old man. 

“ How is my dear uncle ?” asked he at last, judging that 
this title, which moreover he had given in years of child- 
hood to Plavitski, would answer best to the solemn manner 
of his reception. 

“ How am 1?” repeated Plavitski. “ Not long for me 
now, not long! But just for this reason I greet thee in my 
house with the greater affection, — I greet thee as a father. 
And if the blessing of a man standing over the grave, and 
who at the same time is the eldest member of the family, 
has in thy eyes any value, I give it thee.” 

And seizing Pan Stanislav’s head a second time, he kissed 
it and blessed him. The young man changed still more, 
and constraint was expressed on his face. His mother was 


1 Third, or ring finger. 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 11 


a relative and friend of Plavitski’s first wife: to Plavitski 
himself no affectionate feelings had ever attracted her, so 
faras he could remember ; hence the solemnity of the recep- 
tion, to which he was forced to yield, was immensely dis- 
agreeable to him. Pan Stanislav had not the least family 
feeling for Plavitski. “This monkey,” thought he, “is 
blessing me instead of talking money ;” and he was seized 
by a certain indignation, which might help him to explain 
matters clearly. 

“Now sit down, dear boy,” said Plavitski, ‘‘and be as 
if in thy own house.” 

Pan Stanislav took a seat, and began, “ Dear uncle, for 
me it is very pleasant to visit uncle. I should have done 
so surely, even without business; but uncle knows that I 
have come also on that affair which my mother —” 

Here the old man laid his hand on Pan Stanislav’s knee 
suddenly. “But hast thou drunk coffee?” asked he. 

“T have,” answered Pan Stanislav, driven from his 
track. 

“Marynia goes to church early. I beg pardon, too, 
that I have not given thee my room; but I am old, I 
am accustomed to sleep here. This is my nest.” Then, 
with a circular sweep of the hand, he directed attention 
to the chamber. 

Unconsciously Pan Stanislav let his eyes follow the 
motion of the hand. Ona time this chamber had been to 
him a ceaseless temptation, for in it had hung the arms of 
Plavitski. The only change in it was the wall, which 
in the old time was rose-colored, and represented, on an 
endless number of squares, young shepherdesses, dressed 
a la Watteau, and catching fish with hooks. At the 
window stood a toilet-table with a white cover, and a 
mirror in a silver frame. On the table was a multitude 
of little pots, vials, boxes, brushes, combs, nail files, etc. 
At one side, in the corner, was a table with pipes and 
pipe-stems with amber mouth-pieces; on the wall, above 
the sofa, was the head of a wild boar, and under it two 
double-barrelled guns, a hunting-bag, horns, and, in 
general, the weapons of hunting; in the depth was a table 
with papers, open shelves with a certain number of books. 
Everywhere the place was full of old furniture more or less 
needed and ornamental, but indicating that the occupant 
of the chamber was the centre around which everything 
turned in that house, and that he cared greatly for him- 


12 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


self. In one word, it was the chamber of an old single 
man, —an egotist full of petty anxiety for his personal 
comfort, and full of pretensions. Pan Stanislav did not 
need long reflection to divine that Plavitski would not 
give up his chamber for anything, nor to any man. 

But the hospitable host inquired further, “ Was it comfor- 
table enough for thee? How didst thou spend the night?” 

“Perfectly; I rose late.” 

“But thou wilt stay a week or so with me?” 

Pan Stanislav, who was very impulsive, sprang up from 
his chair. 

“Does n’t uncle know that I have business in Warsaw, 
and a partner, who at present is doing all our work alone? 
I must go at the earliest; and to-day I should like to finish 
the business on which I have come.” 

To this Plavitski answered with a certain cordial dignity, 
“No, my boy. ‘To-day is Sunday; and besides, family 
feeling should go before business. To-day I greet thee, 
and receive thee as a blood relative; to-morrow, if thou 
wish, appear as a creditor. That is it. To-day my Stas 
has come to me, the son of my Anna. Thus will it be 
till to-morrow; thus should it be, Stas. This is said to 
thee by thy eldest relative, who loves thee, and for whom 
thou shouldst do this.” 

Pan Stanislav frowned a little, but after a while he 
answered, “Let it be so till to-morrow.” 

“ Anna spoke through thee then. Dost smoke a pipe?” 

“No, only cigarettes.” 

“Believe me, thou doest ill. But I have cigarettes for 
guests.” 

Further conversation was interrupted by the rattle of an 
equipage at the entrance. 

‘‘That is Marynia, who has come from early Mass,” said 
Plavitski. 

Pan Stanislav looked out through the window, and saw 
a young lady in a straw hat stepping out of the equipage. 

“Hast made the acquaintance of Marynia?” asked 
Plavitski. 

“T had the pleasure yesterday.” 

“She is a dear child. I need not tell thee that I live 
only for her —” ' 

At that moment the door opened, and a youthful voice 
asked, “ May I come in?” 

“Come in, come in; Stas is here!” answered Plavitsk.. 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 13 


Marynia entered the chamber quickly, with her hat 
hanging by ribbons over her shoulder; and when she had 
embraced her father, she gave her hand to Pan Stanislav. 
In her rose-colored muslin, she looked exceedingly graceful 
and pretty. There was about her something of the char- 
acter of Sunday, and with it the freshness of that morning, 
which was bright and calm. Her hair had been ruffled a 
little by her hat; her cheeks were blooming; and youth 
was breathing from her person. ‘To Pan Stanislav, she 
seemed more joyous and more shapely than the previous 
evening. 

“High Mass will be a little later to-day,” said she to 
her father; “for immediately after Mass the canon went to 
the mill to prepare Pani Siatkovski; she is very ill. Papa 
will have half an hour yet.” 

“That is well,” said Plavitski; “during that time thou 
wilt become more nearly acquainted with Stas. I tell 
thee, drop for drop like Anna! But thou hast never seen 
her. Remember, too, Marynia, that he will be our creditor 
to-morrow, if he wishes; but to-day he is only our relative 
and guest.” 

“Very well,” answered the young lady; “we shall have 
a pleasant Sunday.” 

“You went to sleep so late yesterday,” said Pan Stanislav, 
“and to-day you were at early Mass.” 

She answered merrily, “The cook and I go to early Mass 
that we may have time afterward to think of dinner.” 

“T forgot to mention,” said Pan Stanislav, “that I bring 
you salutations from Pani Emilia Hvastovski.” 

“JT have not seen Emilia for a year and a half, but we 
write to each other often. She is about to visit Reichen- 
hall, for the sake of her little daughter.” 

“She was ready to start when I saw her.” 

“But how is the little girl?” 

“She is in her twelfth year; she has grown beyond 
measure, and is pale. It does not seem that she is very 
healthy.” 

“Do you visit Emilia often?” 

“Rather often. She is almost my only acquaintance in 
Warsaw. Besides, I like Pani Emilia very much.” 

“Tell me, my boy,” inquired Plavitski, taking a pair of 
fresh gloves from the table, and putting them into a breast- 
pocket, “what is thy particular occupation in Warsaw?” 

“ST am what is called an ‘affairist;’? I have a commis- 


14 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


sion house in company with a certain Bigiel. I speculate 
in wheat and sugar, sometimes in timber; in anything that 
gives profit.” 

“T have heard that thou art an engineer ?” 

“T have my specialty. But on my return I could not 
find occupation at any factory, and I began at mercantile 
transactions, all the more readily that I had some idea of 
them. But my specialty is dyeing.” 

‘*How dost thou say?” inquired Plavitski. 

** Dyeing.” 

“The times are such now that one must take up any- 
thing,” said Plavitski, with dignity. “I am not the man 
to take that ill of thee. If thou wilt only retain the 
honorable old traditions of the family, no occupation 
brings shame to a man.” 

Pan Stanislav, to whom the appearance of the young 
lady had brought back his good nature, and who was 
amused by the sudden “grandezza” of the old man, showed 
his sound teeth in a smile, and answered, — 

“Praise God for that!” 

Panna Plavitski smiled in like manner, and _ said, 
“Emilia, who likes you very much, wrote to me once 
that you conduct your business perfectly.” 

“The only difficulty in this country is with Jews; still 
competition is easy. And with Jews it is possible to 
get on by abstaining from anti-Semitic manifestoes. As 
to Pani Emilia, however, she knows as much about busi- 
ness as does her little Litka.” 

“Yes; she has never been practical. Had it not been 
for her husband’s brother, Pan Teofil Hvastovski, she 
would have lost all she has. But Pan Teofil loves Litka 
greatly.” 

“Who does n’t love Litka? I, to begin with, am dying 
about her. She is such a marvellous child, and such a 
favorite; I tell vou that I have a real weakness for her.” 

Panna Marynia looked attentively at his honest, viva- 
cious face, and thought, “He must be a little whimsical, 
but he has a good heart.” 

Plavitski remarked, meanwhile, that it was time for 
Mass, and he began to take farewell of Marynia in such 
fashion as if he were going on a journey of some months; 
then he made the sign of the cross on her head, and took 
his hat. The young lady pressed Pan Stanislav’s hand 
with more life than at the morning greeting; he, when 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 15 


sitting in the little equipage, repeated in his mind, “Oh, 
she is very nice, very sympathetic.” 

Beyond the alley, by which Pan Stanislav had come the 
night before, the equipage rolled over a road which was 
beset here and there with old and decayed birches stand- 
ing at unequal distances from one another. On one side 
stretched a potato-field, on the other an enormous plain 
of wheat, with heavy bent heads, which seemed to sleep 
in the still air and in the full hght of the sun. Before 
the carriage, magpies and hoopoes flew among the birches. 
Moving along paths through the yellow sea of wheat, and 
hidden in it to their shoulders, went village maidens with 
red kerchiefs on their heads, which resembled blooming 
poppies. 

“Good wheat,” said Pan Stanislav. 

‘*Not bad. What is in man’s power is done, and what 
God gives He gives. Thou art young, my dear, so I give 
thee a precept, which in future will be of service to thee 
more than once, ‘ Do always that which pertains to thee, 
and leave the rest to the Lord God.’ He knows best what 
we need. The harvest will be good this year; I know 
that beforehand, for when God is going to touch me with 
anything, He sends a sign.” 

‘“*What is it?” asked Pan Stanislav, with astonishment. 

“Behind my pipe-table—I do not know whether thou 
hast noted where it stands —a mouse shows himself to me 
a number of days in succession when any evil is coming.” 

“There must be a hole in the floor.” 

“There is no hole,” said Plavitski, closing his eyes, and 
shaking his head mysteriously. 

“One might bring in a cat.” 

“T will not bring in a eat, for if it is the will of God 
that that mouse should be a sign to me, or forewarning, I 
shall not go against that will. Nothing has appeared to 
me this year. I mentioned this to Marynia; maybe God 
desires in some way to show that He is watching over our 
family. Listen, my dear; people will say, I know, that 
we are ruined, or at least in a very bad state. Here it is; 
judge for thyself: Kremen and Skoki, Magyerovka and 
Suhotsin, contain about two hundred and fifty vlokas of 
land; on that there is a debt of thirty thousand rubles to 
the society, not more, and about a hundred thousand mort- 
gage, including thy sum. Therefore we have about a 
hundred and thirty thousand. Let us estimate only three 


16 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


thousand rubles a vloka; that will make seven hundred 
and fifty thousand, — altogether eight hundred and eighty 
thousand —” 

“How is that?” asked Pan Stanislav, with astonish- 
ment; “uncle is including the debt with the property.” 

“Tf the property were worth nothing, no one would give 
me a copper for it, so I add the debt to the value of the 
property.” 

Pan Stanislav thought, ‘‘He is a lunatic, with whom it 
is useless to talk ; ” and he listened further in silence. 

**T intend to parcel out Magyerovka. The mill I will 
sell; but in Skoki and Suhotsin I have marl, and knowest 
thou at how much I have estimated it? At two million 
rubles.” 

“Has uncle a purchaser?” 

‘“Two years ago a certain Shaum came and looked at the 
fields. He went away, it is true, without speaking of the 
business; but I am sure that he will come again, otherwise 
the mouse would have appeared behind the pipe-table.” 

“Ha! let him come again.” 

“Knowest thou another thing that comes to my head? 
Since thou art an ‘ affairist,’ take up this business. Find 
thyself partners, that is all.” 

“The business is too large for me.” 

“Then find me a purchaser; I will give ten per cent of 
the proceeds.” 

“What does Panna Marynia think of this marl?” 

‘*Marynia, how Marynia? She is a golden child, but 
still a child! She believes that Providence watches over 
our family.” 

“T heard that from her yesterday.” 

Meanwhile they had drawn near Vantory and the church, 
on a hill among linden-trees. Under the hill stood a 
number of peasant-wagons with ladder-like boxes, and 
some brichkas and carriages. Pan Plavitski made the 
sign of the cross, and said, ‘‘This is our little church, 
which thou must remember. All the Plavitskis lie here, 
and I, too, shall be lying here soon. I never pray better 
than in this place.” 

“There will be many people, I see,” said Pan Stanislav. 

“ Gantovski’s brichka, Zazimski’s coach, Yamish’s ecar- 
riage, and a number of others are there. Thou must 
remember the Yamishes. She is an uncommon woman; 
he pretends to be a great agriculturist and a councillor, 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. iy 


but he is an old dotard, who never did understand 
her.” 

At that moment the bell began to sound in the church 
tower. 

“They have seen us, and are ringing the bell,” said 
Plavitski; ‘“ Mass will begin this moment. I will take 
thee, after Mass, to the grave of my first wife; pray for 
her, since she was thy aunt. She was an honest woman; 
the Lord light her.” 

Here Plavitski raised his finger again to rub his right 
eye. Pan Stanislav therefore asked, wishing to change 
the conversation, — 

‘*But was not Pani Yamish once very beautiful? or is 
this the same one?” 

Plavitski’s face gleamed suddenly. He thrust out for 
one moment the end of his tongue from his blackened 
little mustaches, and patting Pan Stanislav on the thigh, 
sald, — 

“She is worth a sin yet, — she is, she is.” 

Meanwhile they drove in, and after walking around the 
church, entered the sacristy at the side; not wishing to push 
through the crowd, they sat on side seats near the altar. 
Plavitski occupied the collator’s place, in which were also 
the Yamishes. Yamish was a man very old in appear- 
ance, with an intelligent face, but weighed down; she was 
a woman well toward sixty, dressed almost like Panna 
Marynia, — that is, in a muslin robe and a straw hat. The 
bows, full of politeness, which Pan Plavitski made to her, 
and the kind smiles with which she returned them, showed 
that between those two reigned intimate relations founded 
on mutual adoration. After a while the lady, raising her 
glasses to her eyes, began to observe Pan Stanislav, not 
understanding apparently who could have come with Pan 
Plavitski. In the seat behind them one of the neighbors, 
taking advantage of the fact that Mass had not begun yet, 
was finishing some narrative about hunting, and repeated a 
number of times to another neighbor, ‘‘My dogs, well —” 
then both stopped their conversation, and began to speak to 
Plavitski and Pani Yamish so audibly that every word 
reached the ears of Pan Stanislav. The priest came out 
to the altar then. 

At sight of the Mass and that little church, Pan Stanis- 
lav’s memory went back to the years of his childhood, 
when he was there with his mother. Wonder rose in him 


9 
G 


18 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


involuntarily when he thought how little anything changes 
in the country, except people. Some are placed away in 
consecrated earth; others are born. But the new life puts 
itself into the old forms; and to him who comes from afar, 
after a long absence, all that he saw long ago seems of 
yesterday. The church was the same; the nave was filled, 
as of old, with flaxen-colored heads of peasants, gray coats, 
red and yellow kerchiefs with flowers on the heads of the 
maidens; it had precisely the same kind of odor of incense, 
of sweet flag, and the exhalations of people. Outside one 
of the windows grew the same birch-tree, whose slender 
branches, thrown against the panes by the wind as it rose, 
cast shade which gave a green tinge to light in the church. 
But the people were not the same: some of the former 
ones were crumbling quietly into dust, or had made their 
way from beneath the earth in the form of grass; those 
who were left yet were somehow bent, as if going under 
ground gradually. Pan Stanislav, who plumed himself on 
avoiding all generalizing theories, but who in reality had a 
Slav head, which, as it were, had not emerged yet from 
universal existence, occupied himself with them involun- 
tarily; and all the time he was thinking that there is still 
a terrible precipice between that passion for life innate in 
people and the absoluteness of death. He thought, also, 
that perhaps for this reason all systems of philosophy 
vanish, like shadows; but Mass is celebrated, as of old, 
because it alone promises further and unbroken continuity. 

Reared abroad, he did not believe in it greatly; at least, 
he was not certain of it. He felt in himself, as do all 
people of to-day, the very newest people, an irrestrainable 
repugnance to materialism; but from it he had not found 
an escape yet, and, what is more, it seemed to him that 
he was not seeking it. He was an unconscious pessimist, 
like those who are looking for something which they can- 
not find. He stunned himself with occupations to which 
he was habituated ; and only in moments of great excess in 
that pessimism did he ask himself, What is this all for ? 
Of what use is it to gain property, labor, marry, beget 
children, if everything ends in an abyss? But that was 
at times, and did not become a fixed principle. Youth 
saved him from this, not the first youth, but also not a 
youth nearing its end, a certain mental and _ physical 
strength, the instinct of self-preservation, the habit of 
work, vivacity of character, and finally that elementaJ 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 19 


force, which pushes a man into the arms of a woman. And 
now from the recollections of childhood, from thoughts 
of death, from doubts as to the fitness of marriage, he 
came to this special thought, that he had no one to whom 
he could give what was best in him; and then he came to 
Panna Marynia Plavitski, whose muslin robe, covering a 
young and shapely body, did not leave his eyes. He re- 
membered that when he was leaving Warsaw, Pani Emilia, 
a great friend of his and of Panna Marynia’s, had said 
laughingly, — 

“Tf you, after being in Kremen, do not fall in love with 
Marynia, I shall close my doors against you.” He an- 
swered her with great courage that he was going only to 
squeeze out money, not to fall in love, but that was not 
true. If Panna Plavitski had not been in Kremen, he 
would surely have throttled Plavitski by letter, or by 
legal methods. On the way he had been thinking of 
Panna Marynia and of how she would look, and he was 
angry because he was going for money, too. Having 
talked into himself great decision in such matters, he de- 
termined above all to obtain what belonged to him, and 
was ready rather to go beyond the mark than not to reach 
it. He promised this to himself, especially the first even- 
ing, when Marynia, though she had pleased him well 
enough, had not produced such a great impression as he 
had expected, or rather had produced a different one; but 
that morning she had taken his eye greatly. “ She is like 
the morning herself,” thought he; “she is nice and knows 
that she is nice,— women always know that.” 

This last discovery made him somewhat impatient, for 
he wished to return as soon as possible to Kremen, to 
observe the young woman further. In fact, Mass was over 
soon. Plavitski went out immediately after the blessing, 
for he had two duties before him, — the first, to pray on the 
graves of his two wives who were lying under the church; 
the second, to conduct Pani Yamish to her carriage. Since 
he wished to neglect neither of these, he had to count with 
time. Pan Stanislav went with him; and soon they found 
themselves before the stone slabs, erected side by side in 
the church wall. Plavitski kneeled and prayed awhile 
with attention; then he rose, and wiping away a tear, 
which was hanging really on his lids, took Pan Stan- 
islav by the arm, and said, “ Yes, I lost both; still I must 
live.” 


20 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Meanwhile Pani Yamish appeared before the church door 
in the company of her husband, of those two neighbors 
who had spoken to her before Mass, and of young Gantovski. 
At sight of her Pan Plavitski bent to Pan Stanislav’s ear 
and said, — 

“When she enters the carriage, take notice what a foot 
she has yet.” 

After’a while both joined the company; bows and greet- 
ings began. Pan Plavitski presented Pan Polanyetski ; then, 
turning to Pani Yamish, he added, with the smile of a man 
convinced that he says something which no common person 
could have hit upon, — 

“My relative, who has come to embrace his uncle, and 
squeeze him.” 

“We will permit only the first; otherwise he will have 
an affair with us,” said the lady. 

“But Kremen!? is hard,” continued Piavitski; “ he will 
break his teeth on it, though he is young.” 

Pani Yamish half closed her eyes. “That ease,” said 
she, “with which you scatter sparks, c’est inoui! How is 
your health to-day ? ” 

‘At this moment I feel healthy and young.” 

“ And Marynia ? ” 

“She was at early Mass. We wait for you both at five. 
My little housekeeper is breaking her head over supper. A 
beautiful day.” 

‘““We shall come if neuralgia lets me, and my lord hus- 
band is willing.” 

“ How is it, neighbor ?” asked Plavitski. 

“Tam always glad to go,” answered the neighbor, with 
the voice of a crushed man. 

“ Then, au revoir.” 

“ Au revoir,” answered the lady; and turning to Pan 
Stanislav, she reached her hand to him. “It was a pleas- 
ure for me to make your acquaintance.” 

Plavitski gave his arm to the lady, and conducted her to 
the carriage. The two neighbors went away also. Pan 
Stanislav remained a while with Gantovski, who looked at 
him without much good-will. Pan Stanislav remembered 
him as an awkward boy; from the “ Little Bear,” he had 
grown to be a stalwart man, somewhat heavy perhaps in 
his movements, but rather presentable, with a very shapely, 


1 Kremen means flint in Polish. 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 21 


light-colored mustache. Pan Stanislav did not begin con- 
versation, waiting till the other should speak first; but he 
thrust his hands into his pockets, and maintained a stubborn 
silence, 

“ His former manners have remained with him,” thought 
Pan Stanislav, who felt now an aversion to that surly fellow. 
Meanwhile Plavitski re turned from Yamish’s carriage. 

“Hast taken notice ?” asked he of Pan Stanislav, first of 
all. “Well, Gantos,” said he then, “thou wilt go in thy 
brichka, for in the carriage there are only two places.” 

gat will go in the brichka, for I am taking a dog to Panna 
Marynia,’ answered the young man, who bowed and walked 
off. 

After a while Pan Plavitski and Pan Stanislav found 
themselves on the road to Kremen. 

“This Gantovski is uncle’s relative, I suppose ?” asked 
Pan Stanislav. 

“The tenth water after a jelly. They are very much 
fallen. This Adolph has one little farm and emptiness in 
his pocket.” 

“ But in his heart there is surely no emptiness ?” 

Pan Plavitski pouted. “So much the worse for him, if 
he imagines anything. He may be good, but he is simple. 
No breeding, no education, no property. Marynia likes 
him, or rather she endures him.” 

“ Ah, does she endure him ?” 

«See thou how it is: I sacrifice myself for her and stay 
in the country; she sacrifices herself for me and stays in 
the country. There is no one here; Pani Yamish is con- 
siderably older than Marynia; in general, there are no 
young people; life here is tedious: but what’s to be done ? 
Remember, my boy, that life is a series of sacrifices. There 
is need for thee to carry that principle in thy heart and thy 
head. Those especially who belong to honorable and more 
prominent families should not. forget this. But Gantovski 
is with us always on Sunday for dinner; and to-day, as 
thou hast heard, he is bringing a dog.” 

They dropped into silence, and drove along the sand 
slowly. The magpies flew before them from birch to birch, 
this time in the direction of Kremen. Behind Plavitski’s 
little carriage rode in his brichka Pan Gantovski, who, 
thinking of Pan Stanislav, said to himself, — 

“Tf he comes as a creditor to squeeze them, Ill break 
his neck; if he comes as a rival, I ’1l break it too.” 


22 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


From childhood, he had cherished hostile feelings toward 
Polanyetski. In those days they met once in a while. 
Polanyetski used to laugh at him; and, being a couple 
of years older, he even beat him. 

Plavitski and his guest arrived at last, and. half an hour 
later, all found themselves at table in the dining-room, with 
Panna Marynia.- The young dog, brought by Gantovski, 
taking advantage of his privilege of guest, moved about 
under the table, and sometimes got on the knees of those 
present with great confidence and with delight, expressed 
by wagging his tail. 

“That is a Gordon setter,” said Gantovski. “ He is simple 
yet; but those dogs are clever, and become wonderfully 
attached.” 

“ He is beautiful, and I am very grateful to you,” answered 
Marynia, looking at the shining black hair and the yellow 
spots over the eyes of the dog. 

“Too friendly,” added Plavitski, covering his knees with 
a napkin. 

“In the field, too, they are better than common setters.” 

“Do you hunt?” asked Pan Stanislav of the young 
lady. 

“No; I have never had any desire to do so. And 
you?” 

“Sometimes. But I live in the city.” 

“ Art thou much in society ?” inquired Plavitski. 

“ Almost never. My visits are to Pani Emilia, my part- 
ner Bigiel, and Vaskovski, my former professor, an oddity 
now, — those are all. Of course I go sometimes to people 
with whom I have business.” 

“‘That is not well, my boy. A young man should have 
ind preserve good social relations, especially when he has a 
vight to them. Ifa man has to force his way, the question 
is different; but as Polanyetski, thou hast the right to go 
anywhere. I have the same story, too, with Marynia. The 
winter before last, when she had finished her eighteenth 
year, I took her to Warsaw. ‘Thou’lt understand that the 
trip was not without cost, and that for me it required cer- 
tain sacrifices. Well, and what came of it? She sat for 
whole days with Pani Emilia, and they read books. She is 
born a recluse, and will remain one. Thou and she might 
join hands.” 

“Let us join hands!” cried Pan Stanislav, joyously. 

“T cannot, with a clear conscience,” answered Marynia; 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 23 


“for it was not altogether as papa describes. I read books 
with Emilia, it is true; but I was much in society with 
papa, and I danced enough for a lifetime.” 

“ You have no fault to find?” 

“No; but I am not yearning.” 

“Then you did not bring away memories, it seems ?” 

“ Evidently there remained with me only recollections, 
which are something different.” 

“T do not understand the difference.” 

“Memory is a magazine, in which the past hes stored 
away, and recollection appears when we go to the magazine 
to take something.” 

Here Panna Marynia was alarmed somewhat at that 
special daring with which she had allowed herself this 
philosophical deduction as to the difference between mem- 
ory and recollection; therefore she blushed rather deeply. 

‘Not stupid, and pretty,” thought Pan Stanislav; aloud 
he said, “That would not have come to my head, and it is 
so appropriate.” 

He surveyed her with eyes full of sympathy. She was 
in fact very pretty; for she was laughing, somewhat con- 
fused by the praise, and also delighted sincerely with it. 
She blushed still more when the'*daring young man 
said, — 

“To-morrow, before parting, I shall beg for a place, — 
even in the magazine.” 

But he said this with such joyousness that it was impos- 
sible to be angry with him; and Marynia answered, not 
without a certain coquetry, — 

“Very well; and I ask reciprocity.” 

“Tn such ease, I should have to go so often to the maga- 
zine that I might prefer straightway to live in it.” 

This seemed to Marynia somewhat too bold on such short 
acquaintance; but Plavitski broke in now and said, — 

“This Stanislav pleases me. I prefer him to Gantos, 
who sits like a misanthrope.” 

“Because I can talk only of what may be taken in hand,” 
answered the young man, with a certain sadness. 

“Then take your fork, and eat.” 

Pan Stanislav laughed. Marynia did not laugh: she 
was sorry for Gantovski; therefore she turned the conversa- 
tion to things which were tangible. 

“She is either a coquette, or has a good heart,” thought 
Pan Stanislav again. 


24 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


But Pan Plavitski, who recalled evidently his last winter 
visit in Warsaw, continued, “Tell me, Stas, dost thou 
know Bukatski ?” 

“Of course. By the way, he is a nearer relative to me 
than to uncle.” 

“ We are related to the whole world, —to the whole world 
literally. Bukatski was Marynia’s most devoted dancer. 
He danced with her at all the parties.’ 

Pan Stanislav began to laugh again: “ And for all his 
reward he went to the magazine, to the dust-bin. But at 
least it is not necessary to dust him, for he is as careful 
of his person as uncle, for instance. He is the greatest 
dandy in Warsaw. What does he do? He is manager of 
fresh air, which means that when there is fair weather 
he walks out or rides. Besides, he is an original, who has 
peculiar little closets in his brain. He observes various 
things of such kind as no other would notice. Once, after 
his return from Venice, I met him and asked what he had 
seen there. ‘I saw,’ said he, ‘while on the Riva dei 
Schiavoni, half an egg-shell and half a lemon-rind floating: 
they met, they struck, they were driven apart, they came 
together ; at last, paf! the half lemon fell into the half egg- 
shell, and away they went sailing together. In this see the 
meaning of harmony.’ Such is Bukatski’s occupation, 
though he knows much, and in art, for instance, he is an 
authority.” 

“ But they say that he is very capable.” 

“ Perhaps he is, but capable of nothing. He eats bread, 
and that is the end of his service. If at least he were 
joyous, but at bottom he is melancholy. I forgot to say 
that besides he is in love with Pani Emilia.” 

‘‘PDoes Emilia receive many people ? ” inquired Marynia. 

‘‘No. Vaskovski, Bukatski, and Mashko, an advocate, 
the man who buys and sells estates, are her only visitors. 

“Of course she cannot receive many people; she has to 
give much time to Litka.” 

“ Dear little girl,” said Pan Stanislav, “may God grant at 
least that Reichenhall may help her.” 

And his joyous countenance was covered in one moment 
with genuine sadness. Marynia looked at him with eyes 
full of sympathy, and in her turn thought a second time, 
“ Still he must be kind really.” 

But Plavitski began to talk as if to himself. “ Mashko, 
Mashko —he too was circling about Marynia. But she 


v 


x 


= 
\ 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 2 


did not like him. As to estates, the price now is such that 
God pity us.” 

“ Mashko is the man who declares ‘that under such con- 
ditions it is well to buy them.” 

Dinner came to an end, and they passed into the drawing- 
room for coffee; while at coffee Pan Plavitski, as his wont 
was in moments of good-humor, began to make a butt of 
Gantovski. The young man endured patiently, out of regard 
for Marynia, but with a mien that seemed to say, “ Ei! but 
for her, I would shake all the bones out of thee.” After 
coffee Marynia sat down at the piano, while her father was 
oceupied with patience. She played not particularly well, 
but her clear and calm face was outlined pleasantly over 
the music-board. About five Pan Plavitski looked at the 
clock and said, — 

“The Yamishes are not coming.” 

“They will come yet,” answered Marynia. 

But from that moment on he looked continually at the 
clock, and announced every moment that the Yamishes 
would not come. At last, about six, he said with a sepul- 
chral voice, — 

“Some misfortune must have happened.” 

Pan Stanislav at that moment was near Marynia, who in 
an undertone said, — 

“ Hereis a trouble! Nothing has happened, of course ; 
but papa will be in bad humor till supper.” 

At first Pan Stanislav wished to answer that to make 
up he would be in good-humor to-morrow after sleeping; 
but, seeing genuine anxiety on the young lady’s face, he 
answered, — 

“ As I remember, it is not very far; send some one to 
inquire what has happened.” 

“ Why not send some one over there, papa ? ” 

But he answered with vexation, “Too much kindness; I 
will go myself ;” and ringing for a servant, he ordered the 
horses, then stopping for a moment he said, — 

“ Enfin, anything may happen in the country ; some per- 
son might come and find my daughter alone. This is not 
a city. Besides, you are relatives. Thou, Gantovski, may 
be necessary for me, so have the kindness to come with 
me:” 

An expression of the greatest unwillingness and dissatis- 
faction was evident on the young man’s face. He stretched. 
his hand to his yellow hair and said, — 


26 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“Drawn up at the pond is a boat, which the gardener 
could not launch. I promised Panna Marynia to launch it; 
but last Sunday she would not let me, for rain was pouring, 
as if from a bucket. 

“Then runand try. It is thirty yards to the pond; thou 
wilt be back in two minutes.” 

Gantovski went to the garden in spite of himself. Pla- 
vitski, without noticing his daughter or Pan Stanislav, re- 
peated as he walked through the room, — 

* Neuralgia in the head; I would bet that it is neuralgia 
in the head; Gantovski in case of need could gallop for the 
doctor. That old mope, that councillor without a council, 
would not send for him surely.” And needing evidently to 
pour out his ill humor on some one, he added, turning 
to Pan Stanislav, “ Thou ’lt not believe what a booby that 
man is.” 

‘Who 7.” 

“ Yamish.” 

“But, papa!” interrupted Marynia. 

Plavitski did not let her finish, however, and said with 
increasing ill humor, “It does not please thee, I know, 
that she shows me a little friendship and attention. Read 
Pan Yamish’s articles on agriculture, do him homage, raise 
statues to him; but let me have my sympathies.” 

Here Pan Stanislav might admire the real sweetness of 
Marynia, who, instead of being impatient, ran to her father, 
and putting her forehead under his blackened mustaches, 
said, — 

“They will bring the horses right away, right away, 
right away! Maybe I ought to go; but let ugly father not 
be angry, for he will hurt himself.” 

Plavitski, who was really much attached to his daughter, 
kissed her on the forehead and said, “I know thou hast a 
good heart. But what is Gantovski doing ?” 

And he called through the open gate of the garden 
to the young man, who returned soon, wearied out, and 
said, — 

“ There is water in the boat, and it is drawn up too far; 
I have tried, and I cannot —” 

“ Then take thy cap and let ’s be off, for I hear the horses 
have come.’ 

A moment later the young people were alone. 

“ Papa is accustomed to society a little more elegant than 
that in the country,” said Marynia; “therefore he lkes 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. OT 


Pani Yamish, but Pan Yamish is a very honorable and 
sensible man.” 

“T saw him in the church; to me he seemed as if 
crushed.” 

“Yes ; for he is sickly, and besides has much care.” 

« Like you.” 

“No, Pan Yamish manages his work perfectly ; besides, 
he writes much on agriculture. He is really the light of 
these parts. Such a worthy man! She too is a good 
woman, only to me she seems rather pretentious.” 

“ An ex-beauty.” 

“Yes. And this unbroken country life, through which 
she has become rather rusty, increases her oddness. I 
think ‘that in cities oddities of character and their ridicu- 
lous sides efface one another; but in the country, people 
turn into originals more easily, ‘they grow disused to society 
gradually, a certain old-fashioned way is preserved in inter- 
course, and it goes to excess. We must all seem rusty to 
people from great cities, and somewhat ridiculous.” 

** Not all,” answered Pan Stanislav; “you, for example.” 

“Tt will come to me in time,” answered Marynia, with a 
smile. 

“Time may bring changes too.” 

“With us there is 80 little change, and that most fre- 
quently for the worse.’ 

“ But in the lives of young ladies in general changes are 
expected.” 

“T should wish first that papa and I might come to an 
agreement about Kremen.” 

“Then your father and Kremen are the main, the only 
objects in life for you?” 

“True. But I can help little, since I know little of any- 
ching.” 

“Your father, Kremen, and nothing more,” repeated Pan 
Stanislav. 

‘A moment of silence came, after which Marynia asked 
Pan Stanislav if he would go to the garden. ‘They went, 
and soon found themselves at the edge of the pond. Pan 
Stanislav, who, while abroad, had been a member of various 
sporting clubs, pushed to the water’s edge the boat, which 
Gantovski could not manage; but it turned out that the 
boat was leaky, and that they could not row in it. 

“This is a case of my management,” said Marynia, 
laughing; “there is a leak everywhere. And I know not 


28 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


how to find an excuse, since the pond and the garden 
belong to me only. But before it is launched I will have 
the boat mended.” 

“ As I live, it is the same boat in which I was forbidden 
to sail when a boy.” 

“Quite possibly. Have you not noticed that things 
change less by far, and last longer than people? At times 
it is sad to think of this.” 

“Tet us hope to last longer than this moss-covered boat, 
which is as waterssoaked as a sponge. If this is the boat 
of my childhood, I have no luck with it. In old times I 
was not permitted to sail in it, and now I have hurt my 
hand with some rusty nail.” 

Saying this, he drew out his handkerchief and began to 
wind it around a finger of his right hand, with his left 
hand, but so awkwardly that Marynia said, — 

“ You cannot manage it ; you need help ;” and she began to 
bind up his hand, which he twisted a little so as to increase 
the difficulty of her task, since it was pleasant for him to 
_feel her delicate fingers touching his. She saw that he was 
hindering her, and glanced at him; but the moment their 
eyes met, she understood the reason, and, blushing, bent 
down as if tying more carefully. Pan Stanislav felt her 
near him, he felt the warmth coming from her, and his 
heart beat more quickly. 

“JT have wonderfully pleasant memories,” said he, “ of 
my former vacations here; but this time I shall take away 
still pleasanter ones. You are very kind, and besides ex- 
actly like some flower in this Kremen. On my word, I do 
not exaggerate.” 

Marynia understood that the young man said that 
sincerely, a little too daringly perhaps, but more through 
innate vivacity than because they were alone; she was not 
offended, therefore, but she began to make playful threats 
with her pleasant low voice, — 

“T beg you not to say pretty things to me; if you do, I 
shall bind your hand badly, and then run away.” 

“You may bind the hand badly, but stay. The evening 
is so beautiful.” 

Marynia finished her work with the handkerchief, and 
they walked farther. The evening was really beautiful. 
The sun was setting; the pond, not wrinkled with a breath 
of wind, shone like fire and gold. In the distance, beyond 
the water, the alders were dozing quietly; the nearer trees 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 29 


were outlined with wonderful distinctness in the ruddy air. 
In the yard beyond the house, storks were chattering. 

“ Kremen is charming, very charming!” said Pan 
Stanislav. 

“ Very,” answered Marynia. 

“JT understand your attachment to this place. Besides, 
when one puts labor into anything, one is attached to it 
still more. I understand too that in the country it is possible 
to have pleasant moments lke this; but, besides, it is 
agreeable here. In the city weariness seizes men some- 
times, especially those who, like me, are plunged to their 
ears in accounts, and who, besides, are alone. Pan Bigiel, 
my partner, has a wife, he has children, — that is pleasant. 
But how is it with me? I say to myself often: I am at 
work, but what do I get for it? Grant that I shall have a 
little money, but what then ? —nothing. To-morrow ever 
the same as to-day: Work and work. You know, Panna 
Plavitski, when a man devotes himself to something, when 
he moves with the impetus of making money, for example, 
money seems to him an object. But moments come in 
which I think that Vaskovski, my original, is right, and 
that no one whose name ends in ski or vich can ever put his 
whole soul into such an object and rest in it exclusively. 
He declares that there is in us yet the fresh memory 
of a previous existence, and that in general the Slavs 
have a separate mission. He is a great original, a philoso- 
pher, and a mystic. I argue with him, and make money 
as I can; but now, for example, when I am walking with 
you in this garden, it seems to me in truth that he is 
right.” 

For a time they walked on without speaking. The light 
became ruddier every instant, and their faces were sunk, as 
it were, in that gleam. Friendly, reciprocal feelings rose 
in them each moment. They felt pleasant and calm in each 
other’s society. Of this Pan Stanislav was sensible seem- 
ingly, for, after a while, he remarked, — 

“That is true, too, which Pani Emilia told me. She said 
that one has more confidence, and feels nearer to you in an 
hour than to another ina month. I have verified this. It 
seems to me that I have known you for a long time. I 
think that only persons unusually kind can produce this 
impression.” 

“Emilia loves me much,” answered Marynia, with sim- 
plicity; “that is why she praises me. Even if what she 


30 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


says were true, I will add that I have not the power to be 
such with all persons.” 

“You made on me, yesterday, another impression, indeed ; 
but you were tired then and drowsy.” 

“T was, in some degree.” 

“And why did you not go to bed? The servants might 
have made tea for me, or I might have done without it.” 

“No; we are not so inhospitable as that. Papa said that 
one of us should receive you. I was afraid that he would 
wait himself for you, and that would have injured him; so 
I preferred to take his place.” 

“In that regard thou mightst have been at ease,” thought 
Pan Stanislav; “but thou art an honest maiden to defend 
the old egotist.”” Then he said, “I beg your pardon for 
having begun to speak of business at once. That is a mer- 
cantile habit. But I reproached myself afterward. ‘Thou 
art this and that kind of man,’ thought I; and with shame 
do I beg your pardon.” 

“There is no cause for pardon, since there is no fault. 
They told you that I occupy myself with everything ; hence 
you turned to me.” 

Twilight spread more deeply by degrees. After a certain 
time they returned to the house, and, as the evening was 
beautiful, they sat down on the garden veranda. Pan 
Stanislav entered the drawing-room for a moment, returned 
with a footstool, and, bending down, pushed it under Ma- 
rynia’s feet. 

“JT thank you, I thank you much,” said she, inclining, 
and taking her skirt with her hand; “how kind of you! I 
thank you much.” 

“JT am inattentive by nature,” said he; “but do you 
know who taught me a little carefulness? Litka. There 
is need of care with her; and Pani Emilia has to remember 
this.” 

‘“She remembers it,” answered Marynia, “and we will 
all help her. If she had not gone to Reichenhall, I should 
have invited her here.” 

“ And I should have followed Litka without invitation.” 

“Then I beg you in papa’s name, once and for all.” 

“Do not say that lightly, for I am ready to abuse your 
kindness. For me it is very pleasant here; and as often as 
I feel out of sorts in Warsaw, I’ll take refuge in Kremen.” 

Pan Stanislav knew this time that his words were in- 
tended to bring them nearer, to establish sympathy between 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 31 


them; and he spoke with design, and sincerely. While 
speaking, he looked on that mild young face, which, in the 
light of the setting sun, seemed calmer than usual. Marynia 
raised to him her blue eyes, in which was the question, 
“Art speaking by chance, or of purpose ?” and she an- 
swered in a somewhat lower voice, — 

DO SO." 

And both were silent, feeling that really a connection 
between them was beginning. 

“T am astonished that papa is not returning, 
last. 

The sun had gone down; in the ruddy gloaming, an owl 
had begun to circle about in slow flight, and frogs were 
eroaking in the pond. 

Pan Stanislav made no answer to the young lady’s re- 
mark, but said, as if sunk in his own thoughts: “I do not 
analyze life; I have no time. When I enjoy myself, —as at 
this moment, for instance,—I feel that [enjoy myself ; when 
I suffer, I suffer, — that is all. But five or six years ago it 
was different. A whole party of us used to meet for dis- 
cussions on the meaning of life, — a number of scholars, and 
one writer, rather well known in Belgium at present. We 
put to ourselves these questions: Whither are we going ? 
What sense has everything, what value, what end? We 
read the pessimists, and lost ourselves in various baseless 
inquiries, like one of my acquaintances, an assistant in the 
chair of astronomy, who, when he began to lose himself in 
interplanetary spaces, lost his reason; and, after that, it 
seemed to him that his head was moving in a parabola 
through infinity. Afterward he recovered, and became a 
priest. We, in like manner, could come to nothing, rest on 
nothing, — just like birds flying over the sea without a 
place to light on. But at last I saw two things: first, that 
iny Belgians were taking all this to heart less than I,—we are 
more naive; second, that my desire for labor would be 
injured, and that I should become an incompetent. I 
seized myself, then, by the ears, and began to color cottons 
with all my might. After that, I said in my mind: Life is 
among the rights of nature; whether wise or foolish, never 
mind, it is a right. We must live, then; hence it is neces- 
sary to get from life what is possible. And I wish to get 
something. Vaskovski says, it 1s true, that we Slavs are 
not able to stop there; but that is mere talk. That we 
cannot be satisfied with money alone, we will admit. But 


” said she, at 


32 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


I said to myself, besides money there are two things: peace 
and—do you know what, Panna Plavitski ? — woman. 
For a man should have some one with whom to share what 
he has. + Later, there must be death. Granted. But where 
death begins, man’s wit ends. ‘That is not my business,’ 
as the English say. Meanwhile, it is needful to have some 
one to whom a man can give that which he has or acquires, 
whether money or service or fame. If they are diamonds 
on the moon, it is all the same, for there is no one to learn 
what their value is. So aman must have some one to know 
him. And I think to myself, who will know me, if not a 
woman, if she is only wonderfully good and wonderfully 
reliable, greatly mine and greatly beloved? This is all that 
it is possible to desire; for from this comes repose, and 
repose is the one thing that has sense. I say this, not as a 
poet, but as a practical man and a merchant. To have near 
me a dear one, that is an object. And let come then what 
may. Here you have my philosophy.” 

Pan Stanislav insisted that he was speaking like a mer- 
chant; but he spoke like a dreamer, for that summer even- 
ing had acted on him, as had also the presence of that 
youthful woman, who in so many regards answered to the 
views announced a moment earlier. This must have come 
to Pan Stanislav’s head, for, turning directly to her, he 
said, — 

‘‘This is my thought, but I do not talk of it before people 
usually. I was brought to this somehow to-day; for I 
repeat that Pani Emilia is right. She says that one 
becomes more intimate with you in a day than with others 
inayear. You must be fabulously kind. I should have 
committed a folly if I had not come to Kremen; and I 
shall come as often as you permit me.” 

“Come, — often.” 

“T thank you.” He extended his hand, and Marynia 
gave him hers, as if in sign of agreement. 

Oh, how he pleased her with his sincere, manly face, with 
his dark hair, and a certain vigor in his whole bearing and 
in his animated eyes! He brought, besides, so many of 
those inspirations which were lacking in Kremen, — certain 
new horizons, running out far beyond the pond and the 
alders which hemmed in the horizon at Kremen. They had 
opened in one day as many roads as it was possible to open. 
They sat again a certain time in silence, and their minds 
wandered on farther in silence as hastily as they had during 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 33 


speech. Marynia pointed at last to the light, which was in- 
creasing behind the alders, and said, “The moon.” 

“ Aha! the moon,” repeated Pan Stanislav. 

The moon was, in fact, rising slowly from behind the 
alders, ruddy, and as large as a wheel. Now the dogs 
began to bark; a carriage rattled on the other side of the 
house ; and, after a while, Plavitski appeared in the draw- 
ing-room, into which lamps had been brought. Marynia 
went in, Pan Stanislav following. 

“Nothing was the matter,” said Plavitski. “Pani Hro- 
metski called. Thinking that she would go soon, they did 
not let us know. Yamish is a trifle ill, but is going to 
Warsaw in the morning. She promised to come to-morrow.” 

“Then is all well?” asked Marynia. 

“Well; but what have you been doing here ?” 

“Listening to the frogs,” answered Pan Stanislav; “and 
it was pleasant.” 

“The Lord God knows why He made frogs. Though 
they don’t let me sleep at night, I make no complaint. 
But, Marynia, let the tea be brought.” 

Tea was waiting already in another room. While they 
were drinking it, Plavitski described his visit at the Ya- 
mishes. The young people were silent; but from time 
fo time they looked at each other with eyes full of light, 
and at parting they pressed each other’s hands very 
warmly. Marynia felt a certain heaviness seizing her, as 
if that day had wearied her; but it was a wonderful and 
pleasant kind of weariness. Afterward, when her head was 
resting on the pillow, she did not think that the day follow- 
ing would be Monday, that a new week of common toil 
would begin; she thought only of Pan Stanislav, and his 
words were sounding in her ears: “Who will know me, 
if not a woman, if she is only wonderfully good and wonder- 
fully reliable, greatly mine and greatly beloved ?” 

Pan Stanislav, on his part, was saying to himself, while 
lighting a cigarette in bed, “She is kind and shapely, 
charming; where is there such another ?” 


34 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER III. 


Bur the following day was a gray one, and Panna Pla- 
vitski woke with reproaches. It seemed to her that, the 
day before, she had let herself be borne away on some cur- 
rent farther than was proper, and that she had been simply 
coquetting with Pan Stanislav. She was penetrated with 
special dissatisfaction, for this reason principally: that 
Pan Stanislav had only come as a creditor. She had for- 
gotten that yesterday; but to-day she said to herself, 
“Undoubtedly it will come to his head that I wanted to 
win him, or to soften him;” and at this thought the blood 
flowed to her cheeks and her forehead. She had an honest 
nature and much ambition, which revolted at every idea 
that she might be suspected of calculation. Believing now 
in the possibility of such a suspicion, she felt in advance 
as if offended by Pan Stanislav. Withal, there was one 
thought which was bitter beyond every expression: she 
knew that, as a rule, a copper could not overtake a copper 
in the treasury of Kremen; that there was no money; and 
that if, in view of the proposed parcelling of Magyerovka, 
there were hopes of having some in future, her father 
would make evasions, for he considered other debts more 
urgent than Pan Stanislav’s. She promised herself, it is 
true, to do all in her power to see him paid absolutely, and 
before others; but she knew that she was not able to effect 
much. Her father assisted her willingly in management; 
but in money matters he had his own way; and it was 
rarely that he regarded her opinion. His rdle consisted 
really in evading everything by all means, —by promises 
never kept, by delays, by presenting imaginary caleula- 
tions and hopes, instead of reality. As the collection of 
debts secured by mortgage on land is diffieult and tedious, 
and defence may be kept up almost as long as one wishes, 
Plavitski held on to Kremen, thanks to his system. In the 
end, all this threatened ruin inexorable, as well as com- 
plete; but, meanwhile, the old man considered himself “the 
head of affairs,” and listened the more unwillingly to the 
opinions and counsels of his daughter, since he suspected 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 35 


at once that she doubted his “head.” This offended his 
self-esteem to the utmost. Marynia had passed, because of 
this “head” and its methods, through more than one hu- 
miliation. Her country life was only an apparent ideal of 
work and household occupations. There was wanting to it 
neither bitterness nor pain; and her calm countenance indi- 
cated, not only the sweetness of her character, but its 
strength, and a great education of spirit. The humiliation 
which threatened her this time, however, seemed harder to 
bear than the others. 

“ At least, let him not suspect me,” said she to herself. 
But how could she prevent his suspicion? Her first 
thought was to see Pan Stanislav before he met her father, 
and describe the whole state of affairs to him; treat him 
as aman in whom she had confidence. It occurred to her 
then that such a description would be merely a prayer for 
forbearance, for compassion; and hence a humiliation. Were 
it not for this thought, Marynia would have sent for him. 
She, as a woman noting keenly every quiver of her own 
heart and the hearts of others, felt half consciously, half 
instinctively, that between her and that young man some- 
thing was foreshadowed; that something had begun, as it 
were; and, above all, that something might and must be 
inevitable in the future, if she chose that it should be; but, 
as affairs stood, it did not seem to her that she could choose. 
Only one thing remained, — to see Pan Stanislav, and efface 
by her demeanor yesterday’s impressions; to break the 
threads which had been fastened between them, and to 
give him full freedom of action. Such a method seemed 
best to her. 

Learning from the servants that Pan Stanislav not only 
had risen, but had drunk tea and gone out to the road, she 
decided to find him. This was not difficult, since he had 
returned from his morning walk, and, standing at the side 
wall of the entrance, which was grown over with wild grape- 
vines, was talking with those two dogs which had fawned 
on him so effusively at his arrival. He did not see her at 
once; and Marynia, standing on the steps, heard him 
saying to the dogs, — 

“These big dogs take pay for watching the house ? They 

eat? They “don’t bark at strangers, but fawn on them. 
Ei! stupid dogs, lazy fellows!” 

And he patted their white heads. Then, seeing her 

through the openings of the grape-vines, he sprang up as 


36 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


quickly as if thrown from a sling, and stood before her, glad 
and bright-faced. 

“Good-morning. I have been talking with the dogs. 
How did you rest?” 

“Thank you.” And she extended her hand to him 
coldly; but he was looking at her with eyes in which was 
to be seen most clearly how great and deep a pleasure the 
sight of her caused him. And he pleased poor Marynia not 
less; he simply pleased her whole soul. Her heart was 
oppressed with regret that she had to answer his cordial 
good-morning so ceremoniously and coldly. 

“Perhaps you were going out to look after affairs? In 
that case, if you permit, I will go with you. I must return 
to the city to-day ; hence one moment more in your com- 
pany will be agreeable. God knows if I could I would 
remain longer. But now I know the road to Kremen.” 

“We beg you to come, whenever time may permit.” 

Pan Stanislav noticed now the coolness of her words, of 
her face; and began to look at her with astonishment. 
But if Marynia thought that he would do as people do 
usually, — accommodate himself to her tone readily and in 
silence, — she was mistaken. Pan Stanislav was too viva- 
cious and daring not to seek at once for the cause; so, 
looking her steadfastly in the eye, he said, — 

“ Something is troubling you.” 

Marynia was confused. 

“You are mistaken,” replied she. 

“T see well; and you know that I am not mistaken. 
You act toward me as you did the first evening. But then 
I made a blunder: I began to speak of, money at a-wrong 
time. Yesterday I begged your pardon, and it was pleas- 
ant, — how pleasant! ‘To-day, again, it is different. Tell 
me why !” 

Not the most adroit diplomacy could have beaten Ma- 
rynia from her path. It seemed to her that she could chill 
him and keep him at a distance by this demeanor; but he, 
by inquiring so directly, rather brought himself nearer, and 
he continued to speak in the tone of a man on whom an 
injustice had been wrought : — 

“Tell me what is the matter; tell me! Your father said 
I was to be a guest yesterday, and a creditor to-day. But 
that is fol— that is nothing! I do not understand such 
distinctions; and I shall never be your creditor, rather 
your debtor. For I am already indebted to you, and grate- 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 37 


ful for yesterday’s kindness; and God knows how much I 
wish to be indebted to you always.” 

He looked into her eyes again, observing carefully 
whether there would not appear in them yesterd: ay’s smile ; 
but Marynia, whose heart was oppressed more and more, 
went on by the way which she had chosen: first, because 
she had chosen it; and second, lest by acknowledging that 
to-day she was different, she might be forced to explain 
why she was so. 

*‘T assure you,” said she, at last, with a certain effort, 
“that either you were mistaken yesterday, or you are mis- 
taken to-day. Iam always the same, and it will always be 
agreeable to me if you bear away pleasant memories.’ 

“The words were polite, but uttered by a young woman so 
unlike her of yesterday that on Pan Stanislav’s face 
impatience and anger began to appear. 

FOIE at 18 important for you that I should feign to believe 
this, let it be as you wish. I shall go away, however, with 
the conviction that in the country Monday is very different 
from Sunday.” 

These words touched Marynia; for from them it seemed 
as if Pan Stanislav had assumed certain rights by reason of 
her conduct with him yesterday: But she answered rather 
with sadness than with anger, 

“ How can I help that ? » 

And after a while she went away, saying that she had to 
go and wish good-day to her father. Pan Stanislav remained 
alone. He drove away the dogs, which had tried to fawn 
on him anew, and began to be angry. 

“What does this mean?” asked he in his mind. “ Yes- 
terday, kind; to-day, surly, — altogether a different woman. 
How stupid all this is, and useless! Yesterday, a relative ; 
to-day, a creditor! What is that to her? Why does she 
treat me hike a dog? Have [ robbed any one? She knew 
yesterday, too, why I came. Very well! If you want to 
have me as a creditor — not Polanyetski — all right. May 
thunderbolts crush the whole business ! ” 

Meanwhile Marynia ran into her father’s chamber. Pla- 
vitski had risen, and was sitting, attired in his dressing- 
gown, before a desk covered with papers. For a while he 
turned to answer the good-day of his daughter, then occu- 
pied himself again with reading the papers. 

“Papa,” said Marynia, “I have come to speak of Pan 
Stanislav. Does papa 





38 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


But he interrupted her without ceasing to look at the 
papers, — 

“JT will bend thy Pan Stanislav in my hand like wax.” 

“JT doubt if that will be easy. Finally, I should wish 
that he were paid before others, even with the greatest loss 
to us.” 

Plavitski, turning from the desk, gazed at her, and asked 
coolly, — 

“Ts this, I pray, a guardianship over him, or over me ? ” 

“Tt is a question of our honor.” 

“Tn which, as thou thinkest, I need thy assistance ? ” 

“No, papa; but —” 

“What pathetic day has come on us? What is the 
matter with thee ?” 

“T merely beg, papa, by all —” 

“And I beg thee also to leave me. Thou hast set me 
aside from the land management. I yielded; for, during 
the couple of years that remain to me if life, I have no 
wish to be quarrelling with my own child. But leave me 
even this corner in the house, — even this one room, — and 
permit me to transact such affairs as it is possible to 
transact here.” 

“Dear papa, I only beg —” 

“That I should move out into a cottage, which, for the 
fourth time, thou art choosing for me? ” 

Evidently the old man, in speaking of the “pathetic 
day,” wished merely that no one should divide this mo- 
nopoly with him. He rose now, in his Persian dressing- 
gown, like King Lear, and grasped at the arm of his chair; 
thus giving his heartless daughter to understand that, if he 
had not done this, he should have fallen his whole length 
on the floor, stricken down by her cruelty. But tears came 
to her eyes, and a bitter feeling of her own helplessness 
flowed to her heart. For a while she stood in silence, 
struggling with sorrow and a wish to ery; then she said 
quietly, “I beg pardon of papa,” and went out of the 
room. 

A quarter of an hour later, Pan Stanislav entered, at the 
request of Plavitski, but ill-humored, irritated through 
striving to master himself. 

Plavitski, after he had greeted his visitor, seated him at 
his side in an armchair prepared previously, and, putting 
his palm on the young man’s knee, said, — 

“Stas, but thou wilt not burn this house ? Thou wilt not 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 39 


kill me, who opened my arms to thee as a relative; thou 
wilt not make my child an orphan ? ” 

“No,” answered Pan Stanislav; “I will not burn the 
house, I will not cut uncle’s throat, and I will not make any 
child an orphan. I beg uncle not to talk in this manner, 
for it leads to nothing, and to me it is unendurable.” 

‘Very well,” said Plavitski, somewhat offended, however, 
that his style and manner of expression had found such 
slight recognition; “but remember that thou didst come 
to me and to this house when thou wert still a child.” 

“T came because my mother came; and my mother, 
after the death of Aunt Helen, came because uncle did not 
pay interest. All this is neither here nor there. The money 
rests on a mortgage of twenty-one years. With the unpaid 
interest, if amounts to about twenty-four thousand rubles. 
For the sake of round numbers, let it be twenty thousand ; 
but I must have those twenty, since I came for them.” 

Plavitski inclined his head with resignation. “Thou 
didst come for that. True. But why wert thou so dif- 
ferent yesterday, Stas ? ” 

Pan Stanislav, who half an hour earlier had put that 
same question to Marynia, just sprang up in his chair, but 
restrained himself and said, — 

“ T beg you to come to business.” 

“JT do not draw back before business; only permit me to 
say a couple of words first, and do not interrupt me. Thou 
hast said that I have not paid the interest. True. But 
knowest thou why ? Thy mother did not give me all her 
property, and could not without permission ofa family coun- 
cil. Perhaps it was worse for you that the permission was 
not given, but never mind. When I took those few thousand 
rubles, I said to myself: he woman is alone in the world 
with one child; it is unknown how she will manage, un- 
known what may happen. Let the money which she has 
with me be her iron foundation; let it increase, so that 
at a given moment she may have something for her hands 
to seize hold on. And since then I have been in some 
fashion thy savings bank. Thy mother gave me twelve 
thousand rubles; to-day thou hast in my hands almost 
twenty-four thousand. "That is the result. And wilt thou 
repay me now with ineratitude ? ” 

“Beloved uncle,” answered Pan Stanislay, “do not take 
me, I pray, for a greater dunce than I am, nor for a mad- 
man. I say simply that Iam not caught with such chaff; it 


40 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


is too coarse. Uncle says that I have twenty-four thou- 
sand rubles; where are they ? I am asking for them, with- 
out talk, and moreover such talk.” 

“But be patient, I pray thee, and restrain thyself, even 
for this reason, that I am older,” answered Plav itski, of- 
fended and with dignity. 

“T have a partner, who in a month will contribute 
twelve thousand rubles to a certain business. I must pay 
the same amount. I say clearly and declare that, after 
two years of annoyance with letters, I cannot and will 
not endure any longer.” 

Plavitski rested his arm on the desk, his forehead on 
his palm, and was silent. Pan Stanislav looked at hin, 
waiting for an answer; he gazed with increasing displeasure, 
and in his mind gave himself this question : “Ts he a 
trickster or a lunatic; is he an egotist, so blinded to him- 
self that he measures good and evil by his own comfort 
merely; or is he all these together? ” 

Meanwhile Plavitski held his face hidden on his palm, 
and was silent. 

“T should like to say something,” began Pan Stanislav, 
at last. 

But the old man waved his hand, indicating that he 
wished to be alone with his thoughts for a time yet. On 
a sudden he raised his face, which had erown radiant, — 

“Stas,” said he, “ why are we disputing, when there is 
such a simple way out of it ?” 

“ How?” 

“Take the marl.” 

OW hati??? 

“Bring thy partner, bring some specialist; we will set 
a price on my marl, and form a company of three. Thy — 
what’s his name? Bigiel, is n’t it ? will pay me so much, 
whatever falls to him; thou wilt either add something or 
not; and we’ll all go on together. The profits may be 
colossal.” 

Pan Stanislav rose. “TJ assure you,” said he, “that 
there is one thing to which I am not accustomed, that is to 
be made sport of. I do not want your marl; I want only 
my money; and what you tell me I regard simply as an 
unworthy or stupid evasion.” 

A moment of oppressive silence followed. Jove’s anger 
began to gather on the brows and forehead of Plavitski. 
For a while he threatened boldly with his eyes, then, mov- 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 41 


ing quickly to the hooks on which his weapons were hang- 
ing, he took down a hunter’s knife, and, offering it to Pan 
Stanislav, said, — 

“But there is another way, strike!’ and he opened his 
dressing-gown widely ; but Pan Stanislav, mastering himself 
no longer, pushed away the hand with the knife, and began 
to speak in a loud voice, — 

“This is a paltry comedy, nothing more! It is a pity to 
lose words and time with you. I am going away, for I 
have had enough of you and your Kremen; but I say that 
I will sell my debt, even for half its value, to the first Jew 
I meet. He will be able to settle with you.” 

Then the right hand of Plavitski was stretched forth in 
solemnity. 

“Go,” said he, “sell. Let the Jew into the family nest; 
but know this, that the curse, both of me and of those who 
have lived here, will find thee wherever thou art.” 

Pan Stanislav rushed out of the room, white with rage. 
In the drawing-room he cursed as much as he could, look- 
ing for his hat; finding it at last, he was going out to see if 
the brichka had come, when Marynia appeared. At sight 
of her he restrained himself somewhat; but, remembering 
that she it was, precisely, who was occupied with every- 
thing in Kremen, he said, — 

“T bid farewell to you. I have finished with your father. 
I came for what belonged to me; but he gave me first a 
blessing, then marl, and finally a curse. A nice way to pay 
debts !” 

There was a moment in which Marynia wished to extend 
her hand to him and say, — 

“T understand your anger. A while ago I was with 
father also, and begged him to pay you before all others. 
Deal with us and with Kremen as may please you; but do 
not accuse me, do not think that I belong to a conspiracy 
against you, and retain even a little esteem for me.” 

Her hand was already extending, the words were on her 

lips, when Pan Stanislav, rousing himself internally, and 
losing his balance still more, added, — 
_ “Tsay this because, when I spoke to you the first even- 
ing, you were offended, and sent me to your father. I give 
thanks for the effective advice; but, as it was better for 
you than for me, I will follow my own judgment here- 
after.” 

Marynia’s lips grew pale; in her eyes were tears of 


42 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


indignation, and, at the same time, of deep offence. She 
raised her head, and said, — 

“You may utter what injuries you like, since there is no 
one to take my part; then she turned to the door, with her 
soul full of humiliation and almost despair, because those 
were the only returns she had received for that labor in 
which she had put her whole strength and all the zeal of 
her honest young soul. Pan Stanislav saw, too, that he 
had exceeded the measure. Having very lively feelings, 
he passed in one instant to compassion, and wished to 
hurry after her to beg her pardon; but it was late: she had 
vanished. 

This roused a new attack of rage. This time, how- 
ever, the rage included himself. Without taking fare- 
well of any one, he sat in the brichka, which came up just 
then, and drove out of Kremen. In his soul such anger was 
seething that for a time he could think of nothing but ven- 
geance. TI will sell it, even for a third of the value,” said 
he to himself, “and let others distrain you. I give my 
word of an honest man that I will sell. Even without 
need, I will sell out of spite !” 

In this way his intention was changed into a stubborn 
and sworn resolve. Pan Stanislav was not of those who 
break promises given to others or themselves. It was now 
a mere question of finding a man to buy a claim so difficult 
of collection; for to receive the amount of it was, without 
exaggeration, to crack a flint with one’s teeth. 

Meanwhile the brichka rolled out of the alley to the road 
in the open field. Pan Stanislav, recovering somewhat, 
began to think of Marynia in a form of mind which was a 
mosaic composed of the impressions which her face and 
form had made on him, — of recollections of the Sunday con- 
versation; of repulsion, of pity, of offence, animosity ; and, 
finally, dissatisfaction with himself, which strengthened 
his animosity against her. Each of these feelings in turn 
conquered the others, and cast on them its color. At times 
he recalled the stately figure of Marynia, her eyes, her 
dark hair, her mouth, pleasing, though too large, perhaps; 
finally, her expression; and an outburst of sympathy for 
her mastered him. He thought that she was very girlish; 
but in her mouth, in her arms, in the lines of her whole 
figure, there was something womanly, something that at- 
tracted with irresistible force. He recalled her mild voice, 
her calm expression, and her very evident goodness. Then, 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. | 43 


at thought of how harsh he had been to her before going, 
—at thought of the tone with which he had spoken to 
her, — he began to curse himself. “If the father is an old 
comedian, a trickster, and a fool,” said he to himself; “and 
if she feels all this, she is the unhappier. But what ‘then ? 
Every man with a bit of heart would have understood the 
position, taken compassion on her, instead of attacking the 
poor overworked child. I attacked her. I!” Then he 
wanted to slap his own face; for at once he imagined what 
might have been, what an immeasurable approach, what an 
exceptional tenderness would have arisen, if, after all the 
quarrels with her father, he had treated her as was proper, 
—that is, with the utmost delicacy. She would have given 
him both hands when he was leaving; he would have kissed 
.them; and he and she would have parted like two persons 
near to each other. ‘May the devils take the money!” 
repeated he to himself; “and may they take me!” And he 
felt that he had done things which could not be corrected. 
This feeling took away the remnant of his equilibrium, and 
pushed him all the more along that road, the error of which 
he recognized. And he began a monologue again, more or 
less like the following, — 

“Since all is lost, let all burn. I will sell the claim to 
any Jew; let him collect. Let them fly out on to the pave- 
ment; let the old man find some office; let her go as a 
governess, or marry Gantovski.” Then he felt that he 
would agree to anything rather than the last thought. He 
would twist Gantovski’s neck. Let any one take her, only 
not such a wooden head, such a bear, such a dolt. Beauti. 
ful epithets began to fall on the hapless Gantovski; and all 
the venom passed over on to him, as if he had been really 
the cause of whatever had happened. 

Arriving in such a man-eating temper at Chernyov, Pan 
Stanislav might, perhaps, like another Ugolino, have gnawed 
at once into Gantovski with his teeth, “where the skull 
meets the neck,” if he had seen him at the station. For- 
tunately, instead of Gantovski’s “ skull,” he saw only some 
officials, some peasants, a number of Jews, and the sad, but 
intelligent face of Councillor Yamish, who recognized him, 
and who, when the train arrived soon. invited him — thanks 
to good relations with the station-master — to a separate 
compartment. 

“] knew your father,” said he; “and I knew him in his 
brilliant days. I found a wife in that neighborhood. I 


4a CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


remember he had then Zvihov, Brenchantsa, Motsare, Roz- 
yady in Lubelsk, —a fine fortune. Your grandfather was 
one of the largest landowners in that region; but now the 
estate must have passed into other hands.” 

* Not now, but long since. My father lost all his prop- 
erty during his life. He was sickly; he lived at Nice, did 
not take care of what he had, and it went. Had it not 
been for the inheritance which, after his death, fell to my 
mother, it would have been difficult.” 

“But you are well able to help yourself. I know your 
house; I have had business in hops with you through 
Abdulski.” 

“Then Abdulski did business with you ? ” 

“Yes; and I must confess that I was perfectly satisfied 
with our relations. You have treated me well, and I see 
that you manage affairs properly.” 

‘¢No man can succeed otherwise. My partner, Bigiel, is 
an honest man, and I am not Plavitski.” 

“ How is that?” asked Yamish, with roused curiosity. 

Pan Stanislav, with the remnant of his anger un- 
quenched, told the whole story. 

“Hm!” said Yamish; “since you speak of him without 
circumlocution, permit me to speak in like manner, though 
he is your relative.” 

‘¢ He is no relative of mine: his first wife was a relative 
and friend of my mother,—that is all; he himself is no 
relative.” 

“JT know him from childhood. He is rather a spoiled 
than a bad man. He wasan only son, hence, to begin with, 
his parents petted him; later on his two wives did the same. 
Both were quiet, mild women; for both he was an idol. 
During whole years matters so arranged themselves that 
he was the sun around which other planets circled; and at 
last he came to the conviction that everything from others 
was due to him, and nothing to others from him. When 
conditions are such that evil and good are measured by 
one’s own comfort solely, nothing is easier than to lose 
moral sense. Plavitski is a mixture of pompousness and 
indulgence: of pompousness, for he himself is ever cele- 
brating his own glory ; and indulgence, for he permits him- 
self everything. This has become almost his nature. 
Difficult circumstances came on him. These only a man 
of character can meet; character he never had. He began 
to evade, and in the end grew accustomed to evasion. Land 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 45 


ennobles, but land also spoils us. An acquaintance of mine, 
a bankrupt, said once to me, ‘It is not I who evade, but my 
property, and I am only talking for it And this is some- 
what true, — truer in our position than in any other.” 

“Tmagine to yourself,” answered Pan Stanislav, “that I, 
who am a descendant of the country, have no inclination 
for agriculture. I know that agriculture will exist always, 
_ for it must; but in the form in which it exists to-day I see 
no future for it. You must perish, all of you.” 

“JT do not look at it in rose-colors either. I do not men- 
tion that the general condition of agriculture throughout 
Europe is bad, for that is known. Just consider. A noble 
has four sons; hence each of these will inherit only one- 
fourth of his father’s land. Meanwhile, what happens ? 
Each, accustomed to his father’s mode of living, wishes 
to live like the father ; the end is foreseen easily. Another 
ease: A noble has four sons; the more capable choose vari- 
ous careers ; you may wager that the least capable remains 
on the land. A third case: what a whole series of genera- 
tions have acquired, have toiled for, one light head 
vuins. Fourth, we are not bad agriculturists, but bad ad- 
ministrators. Good administration means more than good 
cultivation of land; what is the inference, then? The land 
will remain; but we, who represent it at present under the 
form of large ownership, must leave it most likely. Then, 
do you see, when we have gone, we may return in time.” 

“‘ How is that?” 

“To begin with, you say that nothing attracts you to 
land; that is a deception. Land attracts, and attracts with 
such force that each man, after he has come to certain 
years, to a certain well-being, is unable to resist the desire 
of possessing even a small piece of land. That will come 
to you too, and it is natural. Finally, every kind of wealth 
may be considered as fictitious, except land. Everything 
comes out of land; everything exists for it. As a banknote 
is a receipt for metallic money in the State Bank, so in- 
dustry and commerce and whatever else you please is land 
turned into another form; and as to you personally, who 
have come from it, you must return to it.” 

“T at least do not think so.” 

“How do you know? ‘To-day you are making property ; 
but how will you succeed? And that, too, is a question of 
the future. The Polanyetskis were agriculturists ; now one 
of them has chosen another career. The majority of sons 


46 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


of agriculturists must choose other careers also, even be- 
cause they cannot do otherwise. Some of them will fail; 
some will succeed and return — but return, not only with 
capital, but with new energy, and with that knowledge of 
exact administration which is developed by special careers. 
They will return because of the attraction which Jand 
exercises, and finally through a feeling of duty, which I 
need not explain to you.” 

“ What you say has this good side, that then my such-an- 
uncle-not-an-uncle Plavitski will belong to a type that has 
perished.” 

Pan Yamish thought a while and said, — 

* A thread stretches and stretches till it breaks, but at last 
it must break. To my thinking, they cannot hold out in Kre- 
men, even though they parcel Magyerovka. But do you 
see whom I pity ?— Marynia. She is an uncommonly hon- 
est girl. For you do not know that the old man wanted to 
sell Kremen two years ago; and that that did not take place 
partly through the prayers of Marynia. Whether this was 
done out of regard to the memory of her mother, who lies 
buried there, or because so much is said and written about 
the duty of holding to the soil, it is sufficient that the 
girl did what she could to prevent the sale. She imagined, 
poor thing, that if she would betake herself with all power 
to work, she could do everything. She abandoned the 
whole world for Kremen. For her it will be a blow when 
the thread breaks at last, and break it must. A pity for 
the years of the girl!” 

“You are a kind person, councillor!” cried Pan Stanis- 
lav, with his accustomed vivacity. 

The old man smiled. “I love that girl: besides, she is 
my pupil in agriculture ; of a truth it will be sad when she 
is gone from us.” 

Pan Stanislav fell to biting his mustaches, and said at 
last, “ Let her marry some man in the neighborhood, and 
remain.” 

“Marry, marry! As if that were easy for a girl with- 
out property. Who is thereamong us? Gantovski. He 
would take her. He is a good man, and not at all so 
limited as they say. But she has no feeling for him, and 
she will not marry without feeling. Yalbrykov is a small 
estate. Besides, it seems to the old man that the Gantov- 
skis are something inferior to the Plavitskis, and Gan- 
tovski too believes this. With us, as you know, that man 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 47 


passes for a person of great family who is pleased to boast 
himself such. Though people laugh at Plavitski, they have 
grown used to his claim. Moreover, one man raises his 
nose because he is making property, another because he is 
losing it, and nothing else remains to him. But let that 
pass. I know one thing, whoever gets Marynia will get 
a pearl.” 

Pan Stanislav had in his mind at that moment the same 
conviction and feeling. Sinking, therefore, into meditation, 
he began again to muse about Marynia, or, rather, to call 
her to mind and depict her to himself. All at once it even 
seemed to him that he would be sad without her; but he 
remembered that similar things had seemed so to him 
more than once, and that time had swept away the illusion. 
Still he thought of her, even when they were approaching 
the city; and when he got out at Warsaw, he muttered 
through his teeth,— 

‘¢ How stupidly it happened! how stupidly! ” 


48 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER IV. 


On his return to Warsaw, Pan Stanislav passed the first 
evening at the house of his partner, Bigiel, with whom, 
as a former schoolmate, he was connected by personal 
intimacy. 

Bigiel, a Cheh by descent, but of a family settled in the 
country for a number of generations, had managed a small 
commercial bank before his partnership with Pan Stanislav, 
and had won the reputation of a man not over-enterprising, 
it is true, but honorable and uncommonly reliable in busi- 
ness. When Pan Stanislav entered into company with 
him, the house extended its activity, and became an im- 
portant firm. The partners complemented each other per- 
fectly. Pan Stanislav was incomparably more clever and 
enterprising; he had more ideas and took in a whole affair 
with greater ease; but Bigiel watched its execution more 
carefully. When there was need of energy, or of pushing 
any one to the wall, Pan Stanislav was the man; but when 
it was a question of careful thought, of examining interests 
from ten sides, and of patience, Bigiel’s réle began. Their 
temperaments were directly opposite; and for that reason, 
perhaps, they had sincere friendship for each other. Prepon- 
derance was relatively on the side of Pan Stanislav. Bigiel 
believed in his partner’s uncommon capacity; and a num- 
ber of ideas really happy for the house, which Pan Stanislav 
had given, confirmed this belief. The dream of both was to 
acquire in time capital sufficient to build cotton-mills, 
which Bigiel would manage, and Pan Stanislav direct. 
But, though both might count themselves among men 
almost wealthy, the mills were in a remote future. Less 
patient, and having many relatives, Pan Stanislav tried, it 
is true, immediately after his return from abroad, to direct 
to this object local, so-called “ our own,” capital ; he was met, 
however, with a general want of confidence. He noticed 
at the same time a wonderful thing: his name opened 
all doors to him, but rather injured than helped him in 
pusiness. It might be that those people who invited him 
to their houses could not get it into their heads that one of 
themselves, hence a man of good family and with a name 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 49 


ending in ski, could conduct any business successfully. 
This angered Polanyetski to such a degree that the clever 
Bigiel had to quench his outburst by stating that such 
want of confidence was in fact caused by years of expe- 
rience. Knowing well the history of different industrial 
undertakings, he cited to Pan Stanislav a whole series of 
cases, beginning with Tyzenhaus, the treasurer, and ending 
with various provincial and land banks, which had nothing 
of the country about them except their names, — in other 
words, they were devoid of every home basis. 

“The time has not come yet,” said Bigiel; “ but it will 
come, or, rather, it is in sight. Hitherto there have been 
only amateurs and dilettanti; now for the first time are 
appearing here and there trained specialists.” 

Pan Stanislav who, in spite of his temperament, hau 
powers of observation rather well developed, began to make 
strange discoveries in those spheres to which his rela- 
tives gave him access. He was met by a general recog- 
nition for having done something. This recognition was 
offered with emphasis even; but in it there was something 
like condescension. Each man let it be known too readily 
that he approved Polanyetski’s activity, that he considered 
it necessary; but no one bore himself as if he considered 
the fact that Polanyetski was working at some occupation 
as a thing perfectly common and natural. “ They all pro- 
tect me,” said he; and that was true. He came also to the 
conclusion that if, for example, he aspired to the hand of 
any of the young ladies of so-called “ society,’ his commer- 
cial house and his title of “ affairist ” would, notwithstand- 
ing the above recognition, have injured more than helped 
him. They would rather give him any of those maidens 
if, instead of a lucrative business, he had some encumbered 
estate, or if, while living as a great lord, he was merely 
spending the interest of his capital, or even the capital 
itself. 

When he had made dozens of observations of this kind, 
Pan Stanislav began to neglect his relatives, and at last 
abandoned them altogether. He restricted himself to the 
houses of Bigiel and Pani Emilia Hvastovski, and to those 
male acquaintances who were a necessity of his single life. 
He took his meals at Francois’s with Bukatski, old Vas- 
kovski, and the advocate Mashko, with whom he discussed 
and argued various questions; he was often at the theatre 
and at public amusements of all kinds. For the rest, he led 

<= 


50 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


rather a secluded life ; hence he was unmarried yet, though 
he had great and fixed willingness to marry, and, besides, 
sutticient property. 

Having gone after his return from Kremen almost directly 
to Bigiel’s, he poured out all his gall on “uncle ” Plavitski, 
thinking that he would find a ready and sympathetic 
listener; but Bigiel was moved little by his narrative, and 
said: — 

“T know such types. But, in truth, where is Plavitski 
to find money, since he has none? If aman holds mort- 
gages, he should have a saint’s patience. Landed property 
swallows money easily, but returns it with the greatest 
difficulty.” 

“ Listen, to me, Bigiel,” said Pan Stanislav; “since thou 
hast begun to grow fat and sleep after dinner, one must 
have a saint’s patience with thee.” 

“But is it true,” asked the unmoved Bigiel, “ that thou 
art in absolute need of this money ? Hast thou not at thy 
disposal the money that each of us is bound to furnish ? ” 

“T am curious to know what that is to thee, or Plavitski. 
I have money with him; I must get it, and that is the end 
of the matter.” 

The entrance of Pani Bigiel, with a whole flock of 
children, put a curb on the quarrel. She was young yet, 
dark-haired, blue-eyed, very kind, and greatly taken up with 
her children, six in number, — children liked by Pan Stanis- 
lav uncommonly ; she was for this reason his sincere friend, 
and also Pani Emilia’s. Both these ladies, knowing and 
loving Marynia Plavitski, had made up their minds to 
marry her to Pan Stanislav; both had urged him very 
earnestly to go to Kremen for the money. Hence Pani 

3igiel was burning with curiosity to know what impression 
the visit had made on him. But as the children were 
present, it was impossible to speak. Yas, the youngest, who 
was walking on his own feet already, embraced Pan Stan- 
islav’s leg and began to puil it, calling ‘Pan, Pan!” which 
in his speech sounded, “Pam, Pam ' two little girls, Evka 
and Yoasia, climbed up without ceremony on the knees of 
the young man; but Edzio and Yozio explained to him their 
business. They were reading the “Conquest of Mexico,” 
and were playing at this “ Conquest. ”  Edzio, raising his 
brows and stretching his hands upwards, spoke excitedly, — 

“T will be Cortez, and Yozio a knight on horseback; but 
as neither Evka nor Yoasia wants to be Montezuma, what 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 51 


can we do? We can’t play that way, can we? Somebody 
must be Montezuma; if not, who will lead the Mexicans ? ” 

“ But where are the: Mexicans ?” asked Pan Stanislav. 

“Oh,” said Yozio, “the chairs are the Mexicans, and the 
Spaniards too.” 

“Then wait, I 11 be Montezuma; now take Mexico!” 

An indescribable uproar began. Pan Stanislav’s vivacity 
permitted him to become a child sometimes. He offered 
such a stubborn resistance to Cortez that Cortez fell to 
denying him the right to such resistance, exclaiming, not 
without historic justice, that since Montezuma was beaten, 
he must let himself be beaten. To which Montezuma 
answered that he cared little for that; and he fought on. 
In this way the amusement continued a good while. And 
Pani bigiel, unable to wait for the end, asked her husband 
at last, — 

“ How was the visit to Kremen ? ” 

“He did what he is doing now,” answered Bigiel, phleg- 
matically : “he overturned all the chairs, and went away.” 

“Did he tell thee that ?” 

“T had no time to ask him about the young lady ; but he 
parted with Plavitski in a way that could not be worse. He 
wants to sell his claim ; this will cause evidently a complete 
severance of relations.” ° 

“That is a pity,” answered Pani Bigiel. 

At tea, when the children had gone to bed, she questioned 
Pan Stanislav plainly concerning Marynia. 

“T do not know,” said he; “perhaps she is pretty, per- 
haps she is not. I did not linger long over the question.” 

“That is not true,” said Pani Bigiel. 

“Then it is not true; and she is lovable and pretty, and 
whatever you like. It is possible to fall in love with her, 
and to marry her; but a foot of mine will never be in their 
house again. I know perfectly why you sent me there; 
but it would have been better to tell me what sort of a man 
her father is, for she must be like him in character, and if 
that be true, then thanks for the humiliation.” 

“But think over what you say: ‘She is pretty, she is 
lovable, it is possible to marry her,’ and then again: ‘She 
must be like her father.’ These statements do not hold 
together.” 

“Maybe not; it is all one tome! Ihave no luck, and 
that is enough.” 

“But I will tell you two things: first, you have come 


52 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


back deeply impressed by Marynia; second, that she is one 
of the best young ladies whom I have seen in life, and he 
will be happy who gets her.” 

“ Why has not some one taken her before now ? ” 

“She is twenty-one years old, and entered society not 
long since. Besides, don’t think that she has no suitors.” 

“Let some other man take her.” 

But Pan Stanislav said this insincerely, for the thought 
that some other man might take her was tremendously bitter 
for him. In his soul, too, he felt grateful to Pani Bigiel for 
her praises of Marynia. 

“ Let that rest,” said he; “ but you are a good friend.” 

“Not only to Marynia, but to you. I only ask for a 
sincere, a really sincere, answer. Are you impressed or 
not ?” 

“T impressed ? to tell the truth, — immensely.” 

“ Well, do you see?” said Pani Bigiel, whose face was 
radiant with pleasure. 

“See what ? Isee nothing. She pleased me immensely, — 
true! You have no idea what a sympathetic and attractive 
person she is; and she must be good. But what of that ? 
I cannot go a second time to Kremen, I came away in such 
anger. I said such bitter things, not only to Plavitski, but 
to her, that it is impossible.” 

“ Have you complicated matters much ? ” 

“ Rather too much than too little.” 

“Then a letter might soften them.” 

“T write a letter to Plavitski, and beg his pardon! For 
nothing on earth! Moreover, he has cursed me.” 

“ How, cursed ? ” 

“ As patriarch of the family; in his own name and the 
names of all ancestors. I feel toward him such a repulsion 
that I could not write down two words. He isan old 
pathetic comedian. I would sooner beg her pardon; but 
what would that effect ? She must take her father’s part ; 
even I understand that. In the most favorable event, she 
would answer that my letter is very agreeable to her; and 
with that relations would cease.” 

“When Emilia returns from Reichenhall we will bring 
Marynia here under the first plausible pretext, and then it 
will be your work to let misunderstandings vanish.” 

“Too late, too late!” repeated Pan Stanislav; “I have 
promised myself to sell the claim, and I will sell it.” 

“That is just what may be for the best.” 


— ee 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 53 


“ No, that would be for the worst,” put in Bigiel; “but I 
will persuade him not to sell. I hope, too, that a purchaser 
will not be found.” 

* Meanwhile Emilia will finish Litka’s cure.” Here Pani 
Bigiel turned to Pan Stanislav: “ You will learn now how 
other young ladies will seem to you after Marynia. I am 
not so intimate with her as Emilia is, but I will try to find 
the first convenient pretext to write to her and find out what 
she thinks of you.” 

The conversation ended here. On the way home, Pan 
Stanislav saw that Marynia had taken by no means the last 
place in his soul. ‘Yo tell the truth, he could hardly think 
of aught else. But he had at the same time the feeling that 
this acquaintance had begun under unfavorable conditions, 
and that it would be better to drive the maiden from 
his mind while there was time yet. As a man rather 
strong than weak mentally, and not accustomed to yield 
himself to dreams simply because they were pleasant, he 
resolved to estimate the position soberly, and weigh it on 
all sides. The young lady possessed, it is true, almost 
every quality which he demanded in his future wife, and also 
she was near his heart personally. But at the same time she 
had a father whom he could not endure ; and, besides the 
father, a real burden in the form of Kremen and its 
connections. 

*‘With that pompous old monkey I should never live in 
peace ; I could not,” thought Pan Stanislav. “ For relations 
with him are possible only in two ways: it is necessary 
either to yield to him (to do this I am absolutely unable), 
or to shake him up every day, asI did in Kremen. In the 
first case, I, an independent man, would enter into unendur- 
able slavery to an old egotist ; in "the second, the position of 
my wife would be difficult, and our peace might be ruined. 

“T hope that this is sober, logical reasoning. It would be 
faulty only if I were in love with the maiden already. But 
I judge that this is not the case. I am occupied with her, 
not in love with her. These two are different. Hrgo, it is 
necessary to stop thinking of Marynia, and let some other 
man take her.” 

At this last idea, a feeling of bitterness burned him 
vividly, but he thought, “TI am so occupied with her that 
this is natural. Finally, I have chewed more than one bitter 
thing in life; I will chew this one as well. I suppose also 
that it will be less bitter each day.” 


54 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


But soon he discovered that besides bitterness there re- 
mained in him also a feeling of sorrow because the prospects 
had vanished which had, been opening before him. It 
seemed to him that a curtain of the future had been raised, 
and something had shown him what might be; then the 
curtain had fallen on a sudden, and his life had returned to 
its former career, which led finally to nothing, or rather led 
to a desert. Pan Stanislav felt in every case that the old 
philosopher Vaskovski was right, and that the making of 
inoney is Only a means. Beyond that, we must solve life’s 
riddle in some fashion. There must be an object, an im- 
portant task, which, accomplished in a manner straight- 
forward and honorable, leads to mental peace. That peace 
is the soul of life; without it life has, speaking briefly, no 
meaning. 

Pan Stanislav was in some sense a child of the age; that is, 
he bore in himself a part of that immense unrest which in 
the present declining epoch is the nightmare of mankind. 
In him, too, the bases on which life had rested hitherto were 
crumbling. He too doubted whether rationalism, stumbling 
against every stone at the wayside, could take the place of 
faith; and faith he had not found yet. He differed, how- 
ever, from contemporary “ decadents ” in this, — that he had 
not become disenchanted with himself, his nerves, his doubts, 
his mental drama, and had not given himself a dispensation 
to be an imbecile and an idler. On the contrary, he had the 
feeling, more or less conscious, that life as it is, mysterious 
or not mysterious, must be accomplished through a series of 
toils and exploits. He judged that if it is impossible to 
answer the various “whys,” still it behooves a man to do 
something because action itself may, to a certain degree, be 
an answer. It may be inconclusive, it is true; but the man 
who answers in that way casts from himself at least respon- 
sibility. What remains then? The founding of a family 
and social ties. These must, to a certain degree, be a right 
of human nature and its predestination, for otherwise people 
would neither marry nor associate in societies. A philosophy 
of this kind, resting on Pan Stanislav’s logical male instinct, 
indicated marriage to him as one of the main objects of life. 
His will had for along time been turned and directed to 
this object. A while before, Panna Marynia seemed to 
him the pier “for which his ship was making in that 
gloomy night.” But when he understood that the lamp on 
that pier had not been lighted for him, that he must sail 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 5D 


farther, begin a new voyage over unknown seas, a feeling of 
weariness and regret seized him. But his reasoning seemed 
to him logical, and he went home with an almost settled 
conviction that “it was not yet that one,” and “ not yet this 
time.” 

Next day, when he went to dine, he found Vaskovski 
and Bukatski at the restaurant. After a while Mashko 
also came in, with his arrogant, freckled face and long 
side whiskers, a monocle on his eye, and wearing a white 
waistcoat. After the greeting, all began to inquire of Pan 
Stanislav touching his journey, for they knew partly why 
the ladies had insisted on his personal visit, and, besides, 
they knew Marynia through Pani Emilia. 

After they had heard the narrative, Bukatski, transparent 
as Sevres porcelain, said with that phlegm special to 
him, — 

“Tt is war, then? Thatis a young lady who acts on the 
nerves, and now would be the time to strike for her. A 
woman will accept more readily the arm offered on a stony 
path than on a smooth road.” 

“Then offer an arm to her,’ said Pan Stanislav, with a 
certain impatience. 

“See thou, my beloved, there are three hindrances. 
First, Pani Emiha acts on my nerves still more; second, 
I have a pain in my neck every morning, and in the back 
of my head, which indicates brain disease; third, I am 
naked.” 

“Thou naked ? ” ; 

“At least now. I have bought a number of Falks, all 
avant la lettre. I have plucked myself for a month, and if 
I receive from Italy a certain Massaccio, for which I have 
been bargaining, I shall ruin myself for a year.” 

Vaskovski, who from his features, or rather from the 
freckles on his face, was somewhat hke Mashko, though 
much older, and with a face full of sweetness, fixed his 
blue eyes on Bukatski, and said, — 

“And that too is a disease of the age, — collecting and 
collecting on all sides ! ” 

“Oh, ho! there will be a dispute,” remarked Mashko. 

“We have nothing better to do,” said Pan Stanislav. 

And Bukatski took up the gauntlet. 

“What have you against collecting ? ” 

“ Nothing,” answered Vaskovski. “It is a kind of old- 
womanish method of loving art, worthy of our age. Do 


56 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


you not think there is something decrepit about it? To 
my thinking, it is very characteristic. Once people bore 
within them enthusiasm for high art: they loved it where 
it was, in museums, in churches; to-day they take it to 
their own private cabinets. Long ago people ended with 
collecting; to-day they begin with it, “and begin at oddities. 
I am not talking at Bukatski; but to- day the youngest boy, 
if he has a little money, will "begin to collect — and what ? 
Not objects of art, but its oddities, or in every case its 
trifles. You see, my dear friend, it has seemed to me 
always that love and amateurism are two different things; 
and I insist that a great amateur of women, for example, 
is not a man capable of lofty feeling.” 

“Perhaps so. There is something in that,” said Pan 
Stanislav. 

“ How can this concern me?” inquired Mashko, passing 
his fingers through his English side whiskers. ‘It con- 
tains, to begin with, the decree of an ancient pedagogue 
about modern times.” 

“Of a pedagogue ?” repeated Vaskovski. “ Why, since 
a morsel of bread tell to me, as from heaven,! I renounced 
the slaughter of innocents and the role of Herod ; secondly, 
you are mistaken in saying that I utter a decree. Almost 
with joy I see and note new proofs every hour that we are 
at the end of an epoch, and that a new one will begin 
shortly.” 

“We are in the open sea, and will not turn to shore 
soon,” muttered Mashko. 

“Give us peace,” said Pan Stanislav. 

But the unconquered Vaskovski continued, — 

“Amateurism leads to refinement; in refinement great 
ideals perish, and yield to desire for enjoyment. All this 
is nothing but paganism. No one can realize to what a 
degree we are paganized. But is there something? There 
is the Aryan spirit, which does not ossify, which never 
grows cold,—aspirit which has within it the divine afflatus, 
hence creative power; and this spirit feels hampered in 
pagan fetters. The reaction has set in already, and a 
rebirth in Christ will begin in this field, as in others. 
That is undoubted.” 

Vaskovski, who had eyes like a child, — that is, reflecting 
only external objects and ever fixed, as it were, on infinity, 





1 He had received an inheritance some time before. 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. oT 


— fixed them on the window, through which were visible 
gray clouds pierced here and there by sun-rays. 

“Tt is a pity that my head aches, for that will be a 
curious epoch,” said Bukatski. 

But Mashko, who called Vaskovski “a saw,” and was 
annoyed by his discussions, begun from any cause or with- 
out cause, took from the side-pocket of his coat a cigar, 
bit off the end, and, turning to Pan Stanislav, said, — 

“Here, Stas, wouldst thou really sell that claim on 
Kremen ? ” 

“Decidedly. Why dost thou ask ? ” 

“ Because I might consider it.” 

iDhou-s 7? 

“Yes. Thou knowest that I consider this kind of busi- 
ness frequently. We can talk about it. I cannot say any- 
thing certain to-day ; but to-morrow I will ask thee to send 
me the mortgage on Kremen, and I will tell thee whether 
the thing is possible. Perhaps after dinner to-morrow 
thou wilt come to me to drink coffee; we may settle some- 
shing then.” 

“Well. If anything is to be done, I should prefer it 
done quickly; for the moment I finish with Bigiel, I wish 
to go abroad.” 

“ Whither art thou going ?” asked Bukatski. 

“T donot know. It is too hot in the city. Somewhere 
to trees and water.” 

“ Another old prejudice,” said Bukatski. “ In the city 
there is always shade on one side of the street, which there 
is not in the country. I walk on the shady side quietly 
and feel well; therefore I never go out of the city in 
summer. 

“ But Professor, art thou not going somewhere ?” asked 
Pan Stanislav. 

“Of course. Pani Emilia has been urging me to go to 
Reichenhall. Perhaps I shall go.” 

“Then let us go together. It is all one to me where I 
go. I like Salzburg, and, besides, it will be pleasant to see 
Pani Emilia and Litka.” 

Bukatski stretched forth his transparent hand, took a 
tooth-pick from a glass, and, picking his teeth, began to 
speak in his cool and careless voice, — 

“There is such a mad storm of jealousy raging within 
me that I am ready to go with you. Have a care, Pola- 
nyetski, lest I explode, like dynamite.” 


58 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


There was something so amusingly contradictory between 
the words and the tone of Bukatski that Pan Stanislav 
laughed, but after a while he answered, — 

“Tt had not occurred to me that it is possible to fall in 
love with Pani Emilia. ‘Thank thee for the idea.” : 

“ Woe to you both!” said Bukatski. 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 5Y 


CHAPTER VY. 


Next day, after an early dinner at Bigiel’s, Pan Stanislav 
betook himself to Mashko’s at the appointed hour. ‘The 
host was waiting for him evidently; for in the study he 
found an exquisite coffee service ready, and glasses for 
liqueurs. Mashko himself did not appear at once, how- 
ever; for, as the servant said, he was receiving some lady. 
In fact, his voice and the words of a woman came through 
the door from the drawing-room. 

Meanwhile, Pan Stanislav fell to examining Mashko’s 
ancestors, a number of whose portraits were hanging on 
the walls. The authenticity of these the friends of the 
young advocate doubted. A certain cross-eyed prelate 
afforded Bukatski a special subject for witticisms; but 
Mashko was not offended. He had determined, cost what 
it might, to force on the world himself, his ancestors, his 
genius for business, knowing that, in the society in which 
he moved, people would ridicule him, but no one would 
have energy to attack his pretensions. Possessing energy, 
imitless insolence, and a real turn for business besides, he 
determined to force himself upward by those qualities. 
People who did not like him ealled him shameless; and he 
was, but with calculation. Coming from a family uncer- 
tain even as to its nobility, he treated people of undoubted 
ancient families as if he were of incomparably better birth 
than they, people who were of undoubted wealth, as if he 
were wealthier than they. And this succeeded: those tactics 
of his were effective. He was careful not to fall into com- 
plete ridicule; but he had marked out for himself in this 
procedure uncommonly wide margins. At last he reached 
the point which he sought: he was received everywhere, 
and had established his credit firmly. Certain transactions 
brought him really generous profits; but he did not hoard 
money. He judged that the time for that had not come yet. 
and that he must invest more in the future, with the intent 
that it would repay him in the way which he wanted. He 
did not squander money, and was not over liberal, for he 
looked on those as marks of a parvenu; but, when the 
need came, he showed himself, to use his own phrase, 


60 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“solidly munificent.” He passed for a very smooth man 
in business, and, above all, a man of his word. His word 
rested on credit, it is true; but it kept him in a high posi- 
tion, which in turn permitted him to make really important 
transactions. He did not draw back before trifles. He 
possessed daring, and a certain energy which excluded long 
hesitation; he had faith, too, in his own fortune. Success 
strengthen a that faith. He did not know, in fact, how 
much property he had; but he handled large sums of 
money, vd people considered him wealthy. 

Finally, Mashko’s life motive was vanity, rather than 
greed. He wanted to be rich, it is true; but, beyond all, 
he wanted to pass for a great lord in English fashion. He 
went so far as to adapt his exterior thereto, and was almost 
proud of his personal ugliness: it seemed to him even 
aristocratic. There was, indeed, a certain something, which, 
if not uncommon, was at least peculiar, in his pouting 
mouth, in his broad nostrils, and the red freckles on his 
face. There was a certain power and brutality, such as 
the English have sometimes, and that expression was in- 
creased by his monocle. To wear this, he had to rear his 
head somewhat; and when he passed his fingers through 
his light side whiskers, he reared it still more. 

Pan Stanislav could not endure the man at first, and 
concealed his dislike even too slightly. Later on he became 
accustomed to him, especially since Mashko treated him 
differently from others, — perhaps through secret regard ; 
perhaps because, wishing to gain in advance a man so 
demanding, to act otherwise would be to expose himself to 
an immediate account, disagreeable in the best case. At 
last, the young men, by meeting often, grew used to each 
other’s weaknesses, and endured each other perfectly. On 
this occasion, for example, when Mashko had conducted 
the lady to the door, he showed himself in the study, set 
aside for the moment his greatness, and, greeting Pan 
Stanislav, began to speak like an ordinary mortal, not like 
a great lord or an Englishman. 

“With women! with women! c’est toujours une mer @ 
boire (there is always a sea to drink). I have invested 
their little capital, and I pay them the interest most regu- 
larly. Not enough! They come at least once a week to 
inquire if there has not been some earthquake.” 

“ What wilt thou say to me?” asked Pan Stanislav. 

“ First of all, drink some coffee.” 


ae 


Sees eee 


Ae SE 


le ee ee 


CHILDREN OF wHE SOIL. 61 


And, igniting the alcohol under the lamp, he added, — 

‘With thee there will be nodelay. I have seen the mort- 
gage. The money is not easy of recovery; but we need 
not look on it as lost. Evidently the collection will involve 
costs, journeys, ete. Hence I cannot give thee what the 
face of the mortgage indicates; but I will give two-thirds, 
and pay in three instalments in the course of a year.” 

«<Since I have said to myself that I would sell the claim, 
even for less than the face of it, I agree. When will the 
first instalment be paid ? ” 

“Tn three months.” 

“Then I will leave my power of attorney with Bigiel in 
case I must go on a journey.” 

“But art thou going to Reichenhall ?” 

“Possibly.” 

«Ai! Who knows but Bukatski has given thee an idea ?” 

“Every one has his own thoughts. Thou, for example. 
Why art thou buying this claim on Kremen? The busi- 
ness is too small for thee, is it not ?” 

«“ Among great affairs small ones too are transacted. But 
I will be outspoken. Thou knowest that neither my posi- 
tion nor my credit belongs to the lowest; both one and the 
other will increase when I have behind me a piece of land, 
and that such a large one. I have heard myself from 
_Plavitski that he would sell Kremen. I will suppose that 
he is still more inclined now, and that it will be possible 
to acquire all that property cheaply, even very cheaply, for 
some payments, for some unimportant ready money, with 
a life annuity in addition; I shall see! Afterward, when 
it is put in order a little, like a horse for the market, it 
may be sold; meanwhile I shall have the position of a land- 
holder, which, entre nous, concerns me very greatly.” 

Pan Stanislav listened to Mashko’s words with a certain 
constraint, and said, — 

“T must tell thee plainly that the purchase will not be 
easy. Panna Plavitski is very much opposed to selling. 
She, in woman fashion, is in love with her Kremen, and 
will do all she can to retain it in the hands of herself 
and her father.” 

“Then in the worst case I shall be Plavitski’s creditor, 
and I do not think that the money will be lost to me. 
First, I may sell it, as thou hast; second, as an advocate, 
I can dispose of it with far greater ease. I may myself 
find means of paying, and indicate them to Plavitski.” 


62 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“Thou canst foreclose too, and buy it at auction.” 

“T might if I were some one else, but to foreclose would 
be devilishly unbecoming in Mashko. No; other means 
will be found, to which ready consent may be given by 
Panna Plavitski herself, for whom, by the way, I have 
great esteem and regard.” 

Pan Stanislav, who at that moment was finishing his 
coffee, put his cup suddenly on the table. ‘“ Ah,” said he, 
“and it is possible in that way to get at the property.” 
Again a feeling of great anger and bitterness seized him. 
At the first moment he wished to rise, say to Mashko, “I 
will not sell the claim!” and go out. He restrained him- 
self, however, and Mashko, passing his fingers through his 
side whiskers, answered, — 

“ But if ? —I can assure thee, on my word, that at this 
moment I have no such plan; at least I have not placed it 
before myself definitely. But if ? — I made the acquaintance 
of Panna Plavitski once in Warsaw, in the winter, and she 
pleased me much. The family is good, the property ruined, 
but large, and can be saved. Who knows? Well, that is 
an idea like any other. I am perfectly loyal with thee, as, 
for that matter, I have been always. Thou didst go there 
as if for money, but I knew why those ladies sent thee. 
Thou hast returned, however, as angry as the devil; there- 
fore I take it that thou hast no intentions. Say that I am 
mistaken, and I will withdraw at once, not from the plan, 
for, as I have assured thee, I have no plan yet, but even 
from thinking over it as something possible. I give thee 
my word on that. In the opposite case, however, do not 
hold to the position, ‘ Not for me, not for any one,’ and do 
not bar the lady’s way. But now [I listen to thee.” 

Pan Stanislav, recalling his reasonings of yesterday, 
thought also that Mashko was right when he said that in 
such a case he ought not to bar any one’s road to the lady, 
and after a certain time he said, — 

“No, Mashko, I have no intentions touching Panna Pla- 
vitski. Thou art free to marry her or not. I will say, 
nevertheless, openly, there is one thing which does not 
please me, though for me it is profitable; namely, that 
thou art buying this claim. I believe that thou hast no 
plau yet; but in case thou shouldst have one, it will seem 
somewhat strange — But any pressure, any trap — this, 
however, is thy affair.” 

“Tt is so much my affair that if some one else, and not 


ee 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 63 


thou, had said this, I should have been quick to remind 
him. I may tell thee, however, that should I form such a 
plan, which I doubt, I shall not ask the hand of Panna 
Plavitski as interest for my money. Since I can say to 
myself conscientiously that I would buy the debt in any 
case, I have the right to buy it. Above all, as matters 
stand to-day, I wish to buy Kremen, for I need it; hence I 
am free to use all honorable means which may lead to that 
end.” 

“Very well; I will sell. Give directions to write the 
contract, and send it, or bring it thyself to me.” 

“JT have directed my assistant. It is ready, and needs 
only the signatures.” 

In fact, the contract was signed a quarter of an hour 
later. Pan Stanislav, who spent the evening of that day 
at Bigiel’s, was in such anger as he had never been before ; 
Pani Bigiel could not hide her vexation; and Bigiel, think- 
ing the whole over carefully said, toward the end of the 
evening, with his usual balance and deliberation, — 

“That Mashko has a plan is beyond doubt. The question 
is merely whether he is deceiving thee by saying that he 
has no plan, or is deceiving himself!” 

“God preserve her from Mashko!” answered Pani Bigiel. 
“We all saw that she pleased him greatly.” 

“T supposed,” said Bigiel, “that a man like Mashko 
would look for property, but I may be mistaken. It may 
be also that he wants to find a wife of good stock, 
strengthen thereby his social position, become related to 
numerous families, and at last take into his hands the busi- 
ness of a certain whole sphere of society. That also is not 
badly calculated, especially since, if he uses his eredit, 
which will be increased by Kremen, it may with his clevy- 
erness clear him in time.” 

“And as you say,” remarked Pan Stanislav, “Panna 
Plavitski pleases him really. I remember now that Pla- 
vitski said something too on this subject.” 

“What then?” asked Pani Bigiel; “ what will happen 
then ? ” 

“Panna Plavitski will marry Pan Mashko if she wishes,” 
said Pan Stanislav. 

* Bub you 7” 

“Oh I am going to Reichenhall straightway.” 


o4 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER VI. 


In fact, Pan Stanislav went a week later to Reichenhall; 
but before that he received a letter from Pani Emilia in- 
quiring about his journey to Kremen. He did not write 
in return, for he intended to answer the letter orally. He 
heard too, but only on the eve of his departure, that 
Mashko had gone to Kremen the day before ; and that news 
touched him more than he thought it would. He said to 
himself, it is true, that he would forget the affair when no 
farther away than Vienna; but he could not forget it, and 
he had his head so occupied with thinking whether Panna 
Plavitski would marry Mashko or not, that he wrote to 
Bigiel from Salzburg, as it were on business, but really ask- 
ing him to send news of Mashko. He listened without 
attention to the discussions of his travelling companion, 
-Vaskovski, about the mutual relations of nationalities in 
Austria, and the mission of modern nations in general. 
More than once he was so occupied with thinking about Ma- 
rynia that he simply did not answer questions. It aston- 
ished him, too, that at times he saw her as clearly as if she 
had been standing before him, not only as an exact image, 
but as a living person. He saw her pleasant, mild face, 
with shapely mouth, and the little ensign on the upper lip; 
the calm gaze of her eyes, in which were visible the atten- 
tion and concentration with which she listened to his 
words; he saw her whole posture, lithe, supple, from 
which came the warmth of great and genuine maiden 
youthfulness. He remembered her bright robe, the tips of 
her feet, peeping from under it, her hands, delicate, though 
slightly sunburnt, and her dark hair, moved by the breeze 
in the garden. He had never thought that there could be 
a memory almost palpable, and that the memory of a per- 
son seen during such a brief time. But he understood this 
to be a proof of how deep an impression she had, in truth, 
made on him; and when at moments it passed through his 
head that all this, which had fixed itself thus in his mem- 
ory, might be possessed by Mashko, he could hardly believe 
it. In those moments his first feeling, which was, more- 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 65 


over, in accord with his active nature, was an irresistible 
impulse to hinder it. He had to remember then that the 
affair was decided already, and that he had resolved to drop 
Panna Plavitski. 

He and Vaskovski reached Reichenhall early in the 
morning; and that very day, before they had learned the 
address of Pani Emilia, they met her and Litka in the 
park. She had not expected to see either, especially Pan 
Stanislav, and was sincerely delighted when she met them; 
her delight was darkened only by this, that Litka, a child 
exceptionally sensitive, and ailing with asthma and _ heart- 
disease, was still more delighted, so much delighted, indeed, 
that she had a violent palpitation of the heart, with sti- 
fling and almost a swoon. 

Such attacks were frequent with her; and, when this one 
passed, calmness came back to all faces. On the way to 
the house, the child held “ Pan Stas” by the hand, and in 
her eyes, usually pensive, there shone deep delight. From 
time to time she pressed his hand, as if to convince herself 
that he had come really to Reichenhall and was near her. 
Pan Stanislav had simply no time to speak to Pani Emilia, 
or to make an inquiry, for Litka was showing him Reichen- 
hall, and chattering unceasingly ; she wanted to show him 
all the nice places at once. Every moment she said, — 

“This is nothing yet. Thumsee is prettier; but we will 
go there to-morrow.” 

Then turning to her mother, ‘“ Mamma will let me go, - 
isn’t it true? I can walk much now. It is not far. 
Mamma will let me go, will she not?” 

At moments again she pushed away from Pan Stanislav, 
and, without dropping his hand, looked at him with her 
great eyes, repeating, — 

“Pan Stas, Pan Stas!” 

Pan Stanislav showed her the greatest tenderness, or 
tenderness as great as an elder brother might show; time 
after time he chided her good-naturedly, — 

“Tet the kitten not run so; she will choke.” 

And she nestled up to him, pouted, and answered, as if 
in anger, — 

“ Hush, Pan Stas! ” 

Pan Stanislav glanced, however, frequently at the serene 
face of Pani Emilia, as if desiring to let her know that 
he wished to converse with her. But there was no oppor- 
tunity, since she did not like to destroy Litka’s joyous- 

5 


66 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


ness, and preferred to leave their mutual friend in her pos- 
session exclusively. Only after dinner, which they ate in 
the garden together, amid foliage and the twittering of 
sparrows, when Vaskovski had begun to tell Litka about 
birds, and the love which Saint Francis Assisi had felt for 
them, and the child, with her head on her hand, was lost 
completely in listening, did Pan Stanislav turn to Pani 
Emilia and ask, — 

“ Do you not wish to walk to the end of the garden?” 

“T do,” answered she. “ Litka, stay here a minute with 
Pan Vaskovski; we will come back in that time.” 

They walked along, and Pani Emilia asked immediately,— 

“Well, what ? ” 

Pan Stanislav began to tell; but whether it was that he 
wished to appear better before Pani Emilia, or that he 
determined to reckon with that delicate nature, or, finally, 
that the last thoughts concerning Marynia had attuned 
him to a note more sensitive than usual, it is sufficient that 
he changed the affair altogether. He confessed, it is true, 
to a quarrel with Plavitski, but he was silent touching this, 
that before his departure from Kremen he had answered 
Marynia almost with harshness; besides, he did not spare 
praises on her in his story, and finally he finished, — 

“Since that debt became a cause of misunderstanding at 
once between me and Plavitski, —a thing which must be re- 
flected on Panna Marynia, —I chose to sell it; and just 
before I left Warsaw, I sold it to Mashko.” 

Pani Emilia, who had not the shghtest conception of 
business, and, besides, was of a simplicity truly angelic, 
remarked, — 

“You did well. There should be no such thing as 
money between you.” 

Ashamed to deceive such a simple soul, he answered, — 

“True! Or rather the contrary, I think I did badly. 
Bigiel, too, is of the opinion that it was not well. Mashko 
may press them; he may put various demands before them ; 
he may offer Kremen for sale. No, that was not a delicate 
act, nor one to bring us nearer; and I should not have com- 
mitted it, were it not that I came to the conviction that it 
was necessary to drive all that out of my head.” 

“But no; do not say so. I believe that there is predes- 
tination in everything; and I believe, too, that Providence 
designed you for each other.” 

“T do not understand that. If that be true, then I need 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 67 


not do anything, for in every case 1 must marry Panna 
Plavitski.” 

“T have a woman’s head, and say stupid things, perhaps ; 
but it seems to me that Providence wills and arranges every- 
thing for the best, but leaves people freedom. Frequently 
they do not wish to follow that which is predestined, and 
this is why so many are unhappy.” 

“Maybe. It is difficult, however, to follow anything but 
one’s own convictions. Reason is like a lantern, which 
God puts in our hands. Who will assure me meanwhile 
that Panna Marynia will marry me?” 

“T ought to have news from her of your visit to Kremen, 
and I wonder that so far I have none. I think that a 
letter will come to-morrow at latest, for we write every 
week to each other. Does she know of your departure for 
Reichenhall ?” 

“She does not. I did not know myself when in Kremen 
where I should go.” 

“That is well; for she will be outspoken, though she 
would be so in any case.” 

The first day’s conversation ended here. In the evening 
it was decided at Litka’s request to walk to Thumsee, and 
go in the morning so as to dine at the lake, return in a 
carriage, or on foot, if Litka was not tired and they could 
return before sunset. The two men presented themselves 
at the lady’s villa before nine in the morning. Pani 
Emiha and Litka were dressed and waiting on the veranda ; 
both were so like visions that Vaskovski, the old peda- 
gogue, was astonished at sight of them. 

“The Lord God makes perfect flowers of people some- 
times,” said he, pointing at mother and daughter from a 
distance. 

Indeed, Pani Emilia and Litka were admired by all 
Reichenhall. The first, with her spiritualized, angelic face, 
appeared the incarnation of love, motherly tenderness, and 
exaltation; the other, with her great pensive eyes, yellow 
hair, and features that were almost too delicate, seemed 
rather the idea of an artist than a living little girl. Bu- 
katski, the decadent, said that she was formed of mist made 
just a trifle rosy by light. Indeed, there was something in 
the little maiden, as it were, not of earth, which impression 
was heightened by her illness and exceeding sensitiveness. 
Her mother loved her blindly; those who surrounded her 
loved her also; but attention did not spoil this child, ex- 
ceptionally sweet by nature. 


68 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Pan Stanislav, who visited Pani Emilia in Warsaw a 
number of times every week, was sincerely attached to both 
mother and daughter. In a city where woman’s reputation 
is less respected than anywhere else in the world, scandal 
was created by this, without the least cause, of course; for 

?ani Emilia was as pure as an infant, and simply carried her 
exalted head in the sky as if she knew not that evil existed. 
She was even so pure that she did not understand the 
necessity of paying attention to appearances. She received 
gladly those whom Litka loved; but she refused a number 
of good offers of marriage, declaring that she needed nothing 
on earth except Litka. Bukatski alone insisted that Pani 
Emilia acted on his nerves. Pan Stanislav adapted him- 
self to those azure heights surrounding that crystal woman, 
so that he never approached her with a thought dimmed 
by temptation. 

Now he answered with simplicity Vaskovski’s remark, — 

“Tn truth, they both seem marvellous.” 

And, greeting them, he repeated more or less the same 
thing to Pani Emilia, as something that in the given case 
had attracted his attention. She smiled with pleasure, — 
likely because the praise included Litka, — and, gathering 
up her skirt for the road, she said, — 

“JT received a letter to-day, and have brought it to you.” 

“May I read it right away ?” 

“You may; I beg you to do so.” 

They set out by the forest road for Thumsee, — Pani 
Emilia, Vaskovski, and Litka in advance, Pan Stanislav a 
little behind them, his head bent over the letter, which was 
as follows : — 


My pear Emrika, — To-day I have received thy litany of 
questions, and will answer at once, for I am in haste to share my 
thoughts with thee. Pan Stanislav Polanyetski went from here on 
Monday; hence, two days ago. The first evening I received him as 
I receive every one, and nothing whatever came to my head ; but the 
next day was Sunday. [had time to spare; and almost the entire after- 
noon we were not only together, but alone, for papa went to the Ya- 
mishes. What shall Isay? Such asympathetic, sincere, and, at the 
same time, honest man! From what he said of Litka and of thee, I 
saw at once that he has a good heart. We walked a long time by the 
pond in the garden. I bound up his hand, for he cut himself with 
the boat. He spoke so wisely that I forgot myself in listening to 
his words. Ah, my Emilka, I am ashamed to confess it, but my 
poor head was turned a fittle by that evening. Thou knowest, more- 
over, how alone I am and overworked, and how rarely I see men 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 69 


like him. It seemed to me that a guest had come from another 
world, and a better one. He not only pleased, but captivated me 
with his heartiness, so that I could not sleep, and was thinking alt 
the time of him. It is true that in the morning he quarrelled with 
papa, and even I received a little; though God sees how much I 
would give that there might be no question of that kind between us. 
At the first moment it touched me greatly; and if that ugly man had 
known how much I cried in my chamber, he would have pitied me. 
But, afterward, I thought that he must be very sensitive; that 
papa was not right; and I am not angry now. I will say, also, in 
thy ear, that a certain voice whispers to me continually that he will 
not sell to any one the claim which he has on Kreinen, if only to be 
able to come here again. That he parted in such anger with papa 
is nothing. Papa himself does not take it to heart; for those are 
his ways, not his convictions or feelings. Pan Stanislav has in me a 
true friend, who, after the sale of Magyerovka, will do everything to 
end all causes of misunderstanding, and in general all those nasty 
money questions. He will have to come then, even to take what 
belongs to him, — is it not true? It may be also that I please him a 
little. That a man as quick as he is should say something bitter 
gives no cause for wonder. Speak not of this when thou seest him, 
and do not scold him; God keep thee from that. I know not why 
I feel a certain confidence that he will do no injustice to me, or papa, 
or my beloved Kremen; and I think it would be well in the world if 
all were like him. 

My dear, I embrace thee and Litka most heartily. Write to 
me of her health minutely, and love me as I do thee. 


When he had finished reading, Pan Stanislav put the 
letter in the side-pocket of his coat, which he buttoned. 
Then he pushed his hat down to the back of his head, and 
felt a certain intense desire to break his cane into small 
bits and throw them into the river: he did not do this, 
however; he only began to mutter, while gritting his 
teeth, — 

“Yes; very well. Thou knowest Polanyetski! Be con- 
fident that he will not injure thee! ‘Thou wilt come out in 
safety.” 

Then he addressed himself as follows, — 

“Thou hast thy deserts; for she is an angel, and thou 
art not worthy of her.’”? And again a desire seized him to 
break his cane into bits. Now he saw clearly that the soul 
of that maiden had been ready to give itself with all faith and 
trust to him; and he prepared for her one of those painful 
and wounding disillusions, the memory of which, fixed 
once and forever, pains eternally. To sell the claim was 
nothing; but to sell it to a man wishing to buy it with the 


70 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


intention which Mashko had, was to say to the woman, “T do 
not want thee; marry him, if it please thee.” Whata bitter 
disillusion for her, after all that he had said to her on that 


Sunday, —after those words friendly, open, and at the same , 


time intended to enter her heart! They were chosen for 
that purpose, and he felt that she had taken them in that 
sense. He might repeat as often as he pleased that they 
bound him to nothing; that in the first meeting and in the 
first conversation which a man has with a woman, he 
merely pushes out horns, like a snail, and tries the ground 
to which he has come. That would be no consolation to 
him now. Besides, he was not merely not in humor for 
self-justification, but wished rather to give himself a slap 
on the face. He saw for the first time so definitely that he 
might have received Marynia’s heart and hand; and the 
more real that possibility was to him, the more the loss 
seemed irreparable. Moreover, from the moment of read- 
ing that letter, a new change appeared in him. His own 
reasoning that now he ought to let Marynia go, seemed 
pitiful and paltry. With all his faults, Pan Stanislav had 
a grateful heart; and that letter moved him to a high 
degree, by the kindness and understanding, by the readiness 
to love, which were revealed in it. Hence the remem- 
brance of Marynia became rosy in his heart and mind all 
at once, — became rosy even with such power that he 
thought, — 

“ As God is in heaven, I shall fallin love with her now! ” 
And such a tenderness seized him that in presence of it 
even anger at himself had to yield. He joined the company 
after a while, and, pushing forward a little with Pani Emilia, 
said, — 

“Give me this letter.” 

‘With the greatest pleasure. Such an honest letter, 
is it not? And you did not confess to me that she 
suffered somewhat at parting; but I will not reprove, 
since she herself takes you under her protection.” 

“Tf it would help, I would beg you to beat me; but 
there is nothing to be said, for those are things incurable.” 

Pani Emilia did not share this opinion; on the contrary, 
seeing Pan Stanislav’s emotion, she felt sure that an affair 
in which both sides had such vivid feelings was in the 
best state and must end satisfactorily. At that very 
thought her sweet face became radiant. 

‘¢ We shall see after some months,” said she. 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 71 


“ You do not even divine what we may see,” said Pan 
Stanislav, thinking of Mashko. 

‘“ Remember,” continued Pani Emilia, “that he who 
once wins Marynia’s heart will never be disappointed.” 

“Tam certain of that,” answered he, gloomily ; ‘‘ but also 
such hearts, when once wounded, do not return again.” 

They could not speak further, for Litka and Pan Vaskovski 
eaught up with them. After awhile the little girl took Pan 
Stanislav, as usual, for her own exclusive property. The 
forest, sunk in the mild morning hght of a fair day, occu- 
pied her uncommonly; she began to inquire about various 
trees ; every little while she cried out with pleasure, — 

“ Mushrooms ! ” 

But he answered mechanically, thinking of something 
else, — 

“ Mushrooms, kitten, mushrooms.” 

At last the road descended, and they beheld Thumsee 
under their feet. In the course of half an hour they came 
down to a beaten path, stretching along the shore, on 
which were visible here and there wooden foot-piers, ex- 
tending a few yards into the lake. Litka wished to look 
from near by at big fish which were visible in the clear 
water. Pan Stanislav, taking her by the hand, led her out 
on to one of the piers. 

The fish, accustomed to crumbs thrown by visitors, in- 
stead of fleeing, approached still nearer, and soon a whole 
circle surrounded Litka’s feet. In the blue water were 
visible the golden-brown backs of the carp, and the gray 
spotted seales of the salmon trout, while the round eyes of 
these creatures were fixed on the little girl as if with an 
expression of entreaty. 

“Coming back, we will bring lots of bread,” said Litka. 
“ How strangely they look at us! What are they think- 
ing of ?” 

“They are thinking very slowly,” said Pan Stanislav; 
“and only after an hour or two will they say: ‘Ah! here 
is some little girl with yellow hair and rosy dress and 
black stockings.’ ” 

“¢ And what will they think of Pan Stas ? ” 

“They will think that I am some gypsy, for I have not 
yellow hair.” 

“No. Gypsies have no houses.” 

“ And I have no house, Litka. I had the chance of one, 
but I sold it.” 


72 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


He uttered this last phrase in a certain unusual manner, 
and in general there was sadness in his voice. ‘The little 
girl looked at him carefully; and all at once her sensitive 
face reflected his sadness, just as that water reflected her 
form. When they joined the rest of the company, from 
time to time she raised her sad eyes with an inquiring 
and disturbed expression. At last, pressing more firmly 
his hand, which she held, she asked, — 

“ What troubles Pan Stas ?” 

“ Nothing, little child; I am looking around at the lake, 
and that is why I do not talk.” 

“T was pleasing myself yesterday, thinking to show 
Pan Stas Thumsee.” 

“Though there are no rocks here, it is very beautiful. 
But what house is that on the other side ? ” 

“We will take dinner there.” 

Pani Emilia was talking merrily with Vaskovski, who, 
carrying his hat in his hand, and seeking in his pockets 
for a handkerchief to wipe his bald head, gave his opinions 
about Bukatski, — 

“He is an Aryan,” concluded he; “ and therefore in con- 
tinual unrest, he is seeking peace. He is buying pictures 
and engravings at present, thinking that thus he will fill 
avoid. But what do I see? This, those children of the 
century bear in their souls an abyss like this lake, for 
example; besides, the abyss in them is bottomless, and 
they think to fill it with pictures, strong waters, amateur- 
ship, dilettantism, Baudelaire, Ibsen, Maeterlinck, finally 
dilettante science. Poor birds, they are beating their 
heads against the sides of their cages! It is just as if I 
tried to fill this lake by throwing in a pebble.” 

* And what can fill life ?” 

“ Every sincere idea, all great feelings, but only on 
condition that they begin in Christ. Had Bukatski loved 
art in the Christian way, it would have given him the 
peace which he is forced to seek.” 

“ Have you told him that ?” 

“‘ Yes, that and many other things. I urge him and Pan 
Stanislav always to read the Life of Saint Francis of 
Assisi. They are not willing to do so, and laugh at me. 
Yet he was the greatest man and the greatest saint of the 
Middle Ages, —a saint who renewed the world. If sucha 
man were to come now, a renewal in Christ would follow, 
still more sincerely and with greater completeness.” 


a ee Oe no 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. (i 


Midday approached, and with it heat. The forest began 
to have the odor of resin; the lake became perfectly smooth 
in the calm air full of glitter, and, while reflecting the 
spotless blue of the sky, seemed to slumber. 

At last they reached the house and the garden, in which 
there was a restaurant, and sat under a beech-tree at a 
table already laid. Pan Stanislav called a waiter in a 
soiled coat, ordered dinner, then looked about silently at 
the lake and the mountains around it. A couple of yards 
from the table grew a whole bunch of iris, moistened by a 
fountain fixed among stones. Pani Emilia, looking at the 
flowers, said, — ' 

‘¢ When I am at a lake and see irises, I think that I am 
in Italy.” 

“For nowhere else are there so many lakes or so many 
irises,” answered Pan Stanislav. 

“Orso much delight for every man,” added Vaskovski. 
“For many years I go there in the autumn to find a refuge 
for the last days. I hesitated long between Perugia and 
Assisi, but last year Rome gained the day. Rome seems 
the anteroom to another life, in which anteroom light 
from the next world is visible already. I will go there 
in October.” 

“JT envy you sincerely,” said Pani Emilia. 

“ Litka is twelve years old,” began Vaskovski. 

“ And three months,” interrupted Litka. 

“And three months: therefore for her age she is very 
small and a great little giddy-head; it is time to show her 
various things in Rome,” continued Vaskovski. ‘ Nothing 
is so remembered as that which is seen in childhood. And 
though childhood does not feel many things completely, 
nor understand them, that comes later, and comes very 
agreeably, for it is as if some one were to illuminate on a 
sudden impressions sunk in shadow. Come with me to 
Italy in October.” 

“In October I cannot; I have my woman’s reasons, which 
detain me in Warsaw.” . 

“ What are they ? ” 

Pani Emilia began to laugh. 

“The first and most important, but purely womanly, rea- 
son, is to marry that gentleman sitting there so gloomy,” 
said she, pointing to Pan Stanislav, “but really so much in 
love.” 

He woke from thoughtfulness, and waved his hand. But 
Vaskovski inquired with his usual naiveté of a child, — 


74 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“ Always with Marynia Plavitski ?” 

“Yes,” replied Pani Emilia. “He has been in Kremen, 
and it would be vain for him to deny that she took his 
heart greatly.” 

“T cannot deny,” answered Pan Stanislav. 

But further conversation was interrupted in an unpleas- 
ant manner, for Litka grew weak on a sudden. In a mo- 
ment she was choking, and had one of her attacks of 
palpitation of the heart, which alarmed even doctors. The 
mother seized her at once in her arms; Pan Stanislav ran 
to the restaurant for ice ; Vaskovski began to draw the gar- 
den bench with effort toward the table, so that she might 
stretch on it and breathe with more freedom. 

“Thou art wearied, my child, art thou not ? ” asked Pani 
Emilia, with pale lips. “See, my love, it was too far 
— Still the doctor permitted. So anxious! But this is 
nothing ; it will pass, it will pass! My treasure, my love! ” 
And she began to kiss the damp face of the little girl. 

Meanwhile Pan Stanislav came with ice, and after him 
the mistress of the place hurried out with a pillow in her 
hand. They laid the little girl on the bench, and while 
Pani Emilia was wrapping the ice in a napkin, Pan Stanis- 
lav bent over the child and asked, — 

‘“ How art thou, kitten ? ” 


“TJ was only choking a little ; but I am better,” answered | 


she, opening her mouth, like a fish to catch breath. 

She was not much better, however, for even through her 
dress one could see how violently the little sick heart was 
beating in her breast. But under the influence of ice, the 
attack decreased gradually, and at last ceased altogether, 
leaving behind only weariness. Litka began again to smile 
at her mother, who also recovered from her alarm some- 
what. It was needful to strengthen the child before they 
returned home. Pan Stanislav ordered dinner, which was 
scarcely touched by any one except Litka, for all looked at 
her from moment to moment with secret fear lest the ehok- 
ing might seize her a second time. An hour passed in this 
way. Guests began now to enter the restaurant. Pani 
Emilia wished to go home, but she had to wait for the ear- 
riage, which Pan Stanislav had sent for to Reichenhall. 

The carriage came at last, but new alarm was in wait for 
them. On the road, though they moved at a walk and the 
road was very smooth, even light jolting troubled Litka, so 
that when they were just near Reichenhall, a choking at- 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 75 


tacked her again. She begged permission to get out of the 
carriage; but it appeared that walking wearied her. Then 
Pani Emilia decided to carry the child. But Pan Stan- 
islav, anticipating that motherly devotion, which moreover 
was not at all in proportion to the woman’s strength, 
said, — 

“Come, Litus, I will carry thee. If not, mamma will 
weary herself and be sick.” 

And without asking further, he lifted her lightly from 
the ground, and carried her with perfect ease on one arm 
only ; to assure both her and Pani Emilia that it did not 
trouble him in the least, he said playfully, 

“When such a kitten is walking on the ground, she 
seems not at all heavy; but now, see where those great 
feet are hanging. Hold on by my neck; thou wilt be 
steadier.” 

And he went on, as firmly as he could, and quickly, for 
he wished the doctor to attend her as soon as possible ; as 
he went, he felt her heart beating against his shoulder, and 
she, while grasping him with her thin, meagre arms, 
repeated, — 

“Tet me down; I cannot — Let me down!” 

But he said, — 

“T will not. Thou seest how bad it is to be tired out 
from walking. In future we will take a big easy armchair 
on wheels; and when the child is wearied, we will seat her 
in it, and I will push her.” 

“No, no!” said Litka, with tears in her voice. 

He carried her with the tenderness of an elder brother 
or a father; and his heart was overflowing: first, because 
really he loved that little maid; and second, because this 
came to his head of which he had never thought before, — 
or, at least, had never felt clearly, — that marriage opens 
the way to fatherhood and to all its treasures of happiness. 
While carrying that little girl, who was dear to hin, 
though a stranger, he understood that God had created him 
for a family; not only to be a husband, but a father; also 
that the main object and meaning of life were found spe- 
cially in the family. And all his thoughts flew to Marynia. 
He felt now with redoubled force that of women whom he 
had met so far he would have chosen her for a wife before 
all, and would wish her to be the mother of his children. 





76 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER VII. 


DurineG some days that succeeded the choking, Litka 
was not ill, but she felt weak; she went out, however, to 
walk, because the doctor not only ordered her to go, but recom- 
mended very urgently moderate exercise up hill. Vaskov- 
ski went to the doctor to learn the condition of her health. 
Pan Stanislav awaited the old man’s return in the reading- 
room, and knew at once from his face that he was nota 
bearer of good tidings. 

“The doctor sees no immediate danger,” said Vaskovski; 
“but he condemns the child to an early death, and in gen- 
eral gives directions to watch over her, for it is impossible, 
he says, to foresee the day or the hour.” 

“ What a misfortune, what a blow!” said Pan Stanislav, 
covering his eyes with his hand. “ Her mother will not be 
able to survive her. One is unwilling to believe in the 
death of such a child.” 

Vaskovski had tears in his eyes. ‘I asked whether she 
must suffer greatly. ‘Not necessarily,’ said the doctor; 
‘she may die as easily as if falling asleep.’ ” 

“Did he tell the mother anything about her condition ? ” 

“He did not. He said, it is true, that there was a defect 
of the heart; but he added that with children such things 
often disappear without a trace. He has no hope himself.” 

Pan Stanislav did not yield to misfortune easily. 

“ What is one doctor!” said he. ‘ We must struggle to 
save the child while there’is a spark of hope. The doctor 
may be mistaken. We must take her to a specialist at 
Monachium, or bring him here. That will alarm Pani 
Emilia, but it is difficult to avoid it. Wait; we can avoid 
it. I will bring him, and that immediately. We will tell 
Pani Emilia that such and such a celebrated doctor has 
come here to see some one, and that there is a chance of 
taking counsel concerning Litka. We must not leave the 
child without aid. We need merely to write to him, so 
that he may know how to talk to the mother.” 

* But to whom will you write?” 

“Towhom? DolIknow? The local doctor here will in- 
dicate a specialist. Let us go to him at once, and lose no 
time.” 


es ee 0 eee ee ee ee a ee ee eee 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 11 


The matter was arranged that very day. In the evening 
the two men went to Pani Emilia. Litka was well, but 
silent and gloomy. She smiled, it is true, at her mother and 
her friend; she showed gratitude for the tenderness with 
which they surrounded her; but Pan Stanislav had not 
power to amuse her. Having his head filled with thoughts 
of the danger which threatened the child, he considered her 
gloom a sign of increasing sickness and an early premoni- 
tion of near death, and with terror he said in his soul that 
she was not such as she had been; it seemed as if certain 
threads binding her to life had been broken. His fear in- 
creased still more when Pani Emila said, — 

“Vitka feels well, but do you know what she begged of 
me to-day? To go back to Warsaw.” 

Pan Stanislav with an effort of will put down his alarm, 
and, turning to the little one, said while feigning joyful- 
ness, — 

“Ah, thou good-for-nothing! Art thou not sorry for 
Thumsee ?” 

The little maid shook her yellow hair. 

“No!” answered she, after a time, and in her eyes tears 
appeared; but she covered these quickly with her lids, 
lest some one might see them. 

“ What is the matter with her?” thought Pan Stanislav. 

A very simple thing was the matter. In Thumsee she 
had learned that her friend, her “Pan Stas,” her dearest 
comrade, was to be taken from her. She had heard that he 
loved Marynia Plavitski; until then she had felt sure that 
he loved only her and mamma. She had heard that mamma 
wanted him to marry Marynia; but up to that time she, 
Litka, had looked on him as her own exclusive property. 
Without knowing clearly what threatened her, she felt that 
this “Pan Stas”? would go, and that a wrong would be done 
her, the first which she had experienced in life. She would 
have suffered less if some one else had inflicted the wrong; 
but, just think, her mamma and “Pan Stas” were wrong- 
ing her! That seemed a vicious circle out of which the 
child knew not how to eseape and could not. How could 
she complain to them of what they were doing! Evi- 
dently they wanted this, wished it; it was necessary for 
them, and they would be happy if it happened. Mamma 
said that “Pan Stas” loved Panna Marynia, and he did 
not deny; therefore Litka must yield, must swallow her 
tears, and be silent in presence of her mamma even. 


78 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


And she hid in herself her first disappointment in life. Yes, 
she had to yield; but because grief 1s a bad medicine fora 
heart sick already, this yielding might be more thoroughly 
and terribly tragic than any one around her could imagine. 

The specialist came two days later from Monachium, and 
remaining two days, confirmed fully the opinion of the 
doctor in Thumsee. He set Pani Emilia at rest, though 
he told Pan Stanislav that the life of the child might con- 
tinue months and years, but would be always as if hanging 
ona thread which might break from any cause. He gave 
directions to spare the little girl every emotion, as well joy- 
ous as sad, and to watch over her with the greatest alertness. 

They surrounded her therefore with care and attention. 
They spared her even the slightest emotion, but they did 
not spare her the greatest, which was caused by Marynia’s 
letters. The echo of the one which came a week later struck 
her ears, which were lstening then diligently. True, it 
might dispel her fears touching “ Pan Stas,” but it was a 
great shock to her. Pani Emilia had hesitated all day 
about showing Pan Stanislav that letter. He had been 
asking daily for news from Kremen; she had to lie simply 
to conceal the arrival of the letter. Finally, she felt bound 
to tell the truth, so that he might know the difficulties 
which he had to encounter. 

The next evening after receiving the letter, when she 
had put Litka to sleep, she began conversation herself on 
this subject. 

“ Marynia has taken it greatly to heart that you sold the 
claim on Kremen.” 

“Then you have received a letter? ” 

“JT have.” 

“Can you show it to me?” 

“No; I can only read you extracts from it. Marynia is 
crushed.” 

“Does she know that I am here ? ” 

“Tt must be that she has not received my letter yet; but 
it astonishes me that Pan Mashko, who is in Kremen, has 
not mentioned it to her.” 

“‘ Mashko went to Kremen before I left Warsaw; and he 
was not sure that I would come here, especially as I told 
him that doubtless I should change my plan.” 

Pani Emilia went to her bureau for the package of 
letters. Returning to the table, she trimmed the lamp, and, 
sitting opposite Pan Stanislav, took the letter from the 
envelope. 


SS 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 79 


«“ You see,” said she, “that for Marynia it is not a ques- 
tion of the sale alone. You know that her head was a 
little imaginative, tlrerefore this sale had for her another 
meaning. A great disenchantment has met her indeed!” 

“JT should not confess to any other person,” said Pan 
Stanislav, “but I will to you. I have committed one of 
the greatest follies of my life, but I have never been so 
punished.” 

Pani Emilia raised her pale blue eyes to him with 
sympathy. 

“ Poor man, are you so captivated, then, by Marynia? Ido 
not ask through curiosity, but friendship, for I should like 
to mend everything, but wish to be certain.” 

“Do you know what conquered me?” broke in Pan Stan- 
islav, excitedly, — “that first letter. In Kremen she pleased 
me; I began to think about her. I said to myself that she 
would be more agreeable and better than others. She is 
such precisely as I have been seeking. But what next ? 
Long before, I had said to myself that I would not be a 
soft man, and yield what belongs to me. You understand 
that when a man makes a principle of anything, he holds 
to it even for pride’s sake. Besides, in each one of us there 
are, as it were, two distinct persons; the second of these 
criticises whatever is done by the first one. This second 
man began to say to me: ‘Drop this affair; you cannot live 
with the father.’ In truth, he is unendurable. I resolved 
to drop the affair. I got rid of the claim. That is how it 
happened. Only later did I find that I could not dismiss 
the thought of Panna Plavitski; I had always this same 
impression: ‘She is such as thou art seeking.’ I saw that 
I had committed a folly, and was sorry. When that letter 
came, and I convinced myself that on her side there was 
a feeling that she could love me and be mine, I loved her. 
And I give you my word that either I am losing my head, 
or this is true. It is nothing while a man is fancying 
something; but when he sees that there were open arms 
before him, what a difference! That letter conquered me; 
I cannot help myself.” 

“JT prefer not to read you all this letter,” said Pani 
Emilia, after a while. “ Naturally she writes that the brief 
dream ended by an awakening more sudden than she had 
looked for. She writes that Pan Mashko is very considerate 
in money questions, though he wishes them to turn to his 
profit.” 





80 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“She will marry him, as God is in heaven!” 

“You do not know her. But of Kremen she writes: 
‘Papa has a wish to dispose of his property, and settle in 
Warsaw. Thou knowest how I love Kremen, how I grew 
up with it; but in view of what has happened, I doubt 
whether my work can be of service. I shall make one 
more struggle to defend the dear bit of land. Still papa 
says that his conscience will not let him imprison me in 
the country, and this is all the more bitter, since it is as if 
I were the question. Indeed, life seems at times to be 
touching on irony. Pan Mashko offers papa three thou- 
sand life annuity, and the whole amount for the parcelling 
of Magyerovka. I do not wonder that he seeks his own 
profit, but through such a bargain he would get the property 
for almost nothing. Papa himself said to him, “In this 
way, if I live one year I shall get from Kremen three thou- 
sand, for Magyerovka is mine anyhow.” Pan Mashko 
answered that in the present state of affairs the creditors 
would take the money for Magyerovka; but if papa agrees 
to the conditions proposed he will receive ready money and 
may live thirty years, perhaps longer. Which is true also. 
I know that this project pleases papa in principle; the only 
question with him is to get as much as he can. In all this 
there is one consolation, — that if we live in Warsaw, I shall 
see thee, dear Emilia, and Litka oftener. Sincerely and 
from my whole soul do I love you both, and know that on 
your hearts at least I can count always.’ ” 

“So then I deprived her of Kremen, but sent her a 
suitor,” said Pan Stanislav, after a moment of silence. 

While saying this, he did not know that Marynia had put 
almost the same words into the letter. Pani Emilia had 
omitted them purposely, not wishing to wound him. 

During the last visit of the Plavitskis in Warsaw, Mashko 
had made some advanees for the hand of Marynia; she had 
no need, therefore, of great keenness to divine his reason for 
buying the claim and coming to Kremen. Just in this was 
the bitterness that filled her heart, and the deep offence 
which she felt that Polanyetski had inflicted on her. 

“Tt is absolutely needful to explain all this,” said Pani 
Emilia. 

“T have sent her a suitor!”’ repeated Pan Stanislav. “TI 
cannot even make the excuse that I did not know of 
Mashko’s designs.” 

Pani Emilia turned Marynia’s letter in her delicate 
fingers some time, and then said suddenly, — 


CHILDREN OF THE. SOIL. 81 


“Tt cannot rest this way. I wanted to unite you with 
her because of my friendship for both of you, but now there 
is a motive the more; to wit, yoursuffering. It would be a 
reproach for me to leave you as you are, and I cannot. Do 
not lose hope. There is a pretty French proverb, and a 
very ugly Polish one, about woman’s strength and will. In 
truth, I wish greatly to help you.” 

Pan Stanislav seized her hand and raised it to his lips. 

“You are the best and most honorable person that I have 
met in the world.” 

““T have been very happy,” answered Pani Emilia; “and 
since I think that there is only one road to happiness, I 
wish those who are near me to go by it.” 

“You are right. That road, or none! Since I have life, 
I wish that life to be of use to some one else and to me.” 

“As to me,” said Pani Emilia, laughing, “since I have 
undertaken the rdle of matchmaker for the first time in 
life, I wish to be of service. But it is necessary to think 
what must be done now.” 

Saying this, she raised her eyes. The light of the lamp 
feli directly on her delicate face, which was still very 
youthful ; on her light hair, which was somewhat disarranged 
above her forehead. There was something in her so bewitching 
and at the same time so virginal that Pan Stanislav, though 
he had a head occupied with other things, recalled the 
name, “maiden widow,” which Bukatski had given her. 

“Marynia is very candid,” said she, after a moment’s 
thought, ‘and will understand better if I write the pure 
truth to her. I will tell her what you told me: that you 
went away much pleased with her; that what you have done 
was done without reckoning with yourself, purely under the 
influence of the thought that you could not come to an 
agreement with her father; but at present you regret this 
most sincerely, you beg her not to take it ill, and not to 
take away the hope that she will yield to entreaty.” 

“And I will write to Mashko that I will purchase the 
debt of him at whatever profit he likes.” 

“See,” said Pani Emilia, smiling, “that sober, calculating 
Pan Stanislav, who boasts that he has freed himself from 
the Polish character and from Polish fickleness.” 

“Yes, yes!” cried Pan Stanislav, with a more joyous 
tone. “ Calculation consists in this, to spare nothing on an 
object that is worth it.” At that moment, however, he grew 
gloomy and said, “ But if she answers that she is Mashko’s 
betrothed ? ” 6 


82 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 

“JT will not admit that. Pan Mashko may be the most 
honorable of men, but he is not for her. She will not marry 
without affection. 1 know that Mashko did not please her 
at all. That will never take place; you do not know 
Marynia. Only do, on your part, what you can, and be at rest 


as to Mashko.’ 
“Then, instead of writing, I will telegraph to him to-day. 


He cannot stop in Kremen long at one time, and must re- 
ceive my despatch in Warsaw.” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 83 


CHAPTER VIII. 


Masuko’s answer, which Pan Stanislav received two days 
later, was, “ I bought Kremen yesterday.” 

Though it might have been foreseen from Marynia’s 
letter that affairs would take this and no other turn, and 
the young man was bound to be prepared for it, the news 
produced the impression of a thunder-clap. It seemed to 
him that a misfortune had happened, as sudden as it was 
incurable, —a misfortune for which the whole responsibility 
fell on him. Pani Emilia, knowing better than any one else 
Marynia’s attachment to Kremen, had also a presentiment 
which she could not conceal, that by this sale the difficulty 
of bringing these two young people nearer each other would 
be increased greatly. 

“Tf Mashko does not marry Marynia,” said Pan Stan- 
islay, “ he will strip old Plavitski in such fashion as to save 
himself and leave the old man without a copper. If I had 
sold my claim to the first usurer I met, Plavitski would 
have wriggled out, paid something, promised more; and 
the ruin of Kremen would have been deferred for whole 
years, in the course of which something favorable might 
have happened ; in every case there would have been time to 
sell Kremen on satisfactory conditions. Now, if they are 
left without a copper, the fault will be mine.” 

But Pani Emilha looked on the affair from another side: 
“The evil is not in this alone,” said she, “that Kremen 
is sold. You have caused this sale, and that immediately 
after seeing Marynia. Ifsome one else had done so, the affair 
would not have such a significance; but the worst is just 
this, that Marynia was greatly confident that you would not 
act thus.” 

Pan Stanislav felt this as vividly as she; and since he was 
accustomed to give himself a clear account of every position, 
he understood also that Marynia was the same as lost to 
him. In view of this, one thing remained, — to acknowledge 
the fact and seek another wife. But Pan Stanislav’s 
whole soul revolted against this. First, his feeling for 
Marynia, though sudden, strengthened neither by time nor 
hearer acquaintance, though resting mainly on the charm, 





84 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


almost exclusively physical, which her form had wrought 
on him, had grown considerably in recent days. Her letter 
effected this, and the conviction that he had inflicted a 
wrong on her. Compassion for her seized him now, and he 
could not think of her without emotion; in consequence of 
this, the feeling itself increased through two causes, which 
play a very important role in each masculine heart. First, 
that energetic, muscular man could never yield passively to 
the course of events. His nature simply could not endure 
this. The sight of difficulty roused him to action particu- 
larly. Finally, his self-love also was opposed to letting 
Marynia go. The thought which he must acknowledge 
to himself sometimes, — that he was only a springe in the 
hand of that Mashko and one of the means to his objects ; 
that he had let himself be abused, or at least used by the 
advocate, — filled him with rage. Though Mashko should 
not receive Marynia’s hand, though the affair should end 
with Kremen, even that was more than Pan Stanislav could 
suffer. Now an irrestrainable desire seized him to go and 
take the field against Mashko, to throw a stone under his 
feet, to cross his further plans, at least, and show him that 
his keenness of an advocate was not enough in a meeting 
with real manly energy. All these, as well as the more 
noble motives, urged Pan Stanislav with irresistible force 
to undertake something, to do something. Meanwhile the 
position was such that there remained well-nigh nothing 
to do. Precisely in this contradiction was hidden the 
tragedy. To remain in Reichenhall, let Mashko carry out 
his plans, extend his nets, work for the hand of Panna 
Plavitski— no! not for anything! But what was he to 
do? ‘To this last question there was no answer. For the 
first time in life Pan Stanislav felt as if he were chained; 
and the less he was accustomed to such a position, the more 
did he bear it with difficulty. He learned too, for the first 
time, what sleeplessness means, what excited nerves are. 
Since Litka, during the days just preceding, felt worse again, 
there hung over the whole society a leaden atmosphere in 
which life was becoming unendurable. 

After a week another letter came from Marynia. This 
time there was no mention either of Pan Stanislav or 
Mashko. Marynia wrote only about the sale of Kremen, 
without complaint, and without explanation of how the 
affair had taken place. But from this alone he might infer 
how deeply the sale had wounded her. 


CHILDREN OF ‘THE SOIL. 85 


It would haye pleased Pan Stanislav more had she com- 
plained. He understood clearly, too, that silence in the letter 
touching him showed how far he had been excluded from 
the heart offthat lady, while silence touching Mashko might 
show directly the opposite. Finally, if she valued that 
Kremen so much, she might return to it by giving her hand 
to its present owner ; perhaps she had become reconciled by 
that thought. Old Plavitski had his prejudices of a noble, 
it is true, and Pan Stanislav counted on them; but, con- 
sidering the man as an egotist above all, he admitted that 
in the present case he would sacrifice his daughter and his 
prejudices. 

In the end of ends, to remain with folded arms at Reich- 
enhall, and wait for news as to whether Pan Mashko would 
be pleased to offer his hand to Panna Plavitski, became for 
Pan Stanislav simply impossible. Litka, too, from time to 
time begged her mother to return to Warsaw. Pan Stanislav 
determined, therefore, to return, all the more as the time 
was approaching when he and Bigiel had to begin a new 
affair. 

This decision brought him great solace at once. He 
would return; he would examine the position with his own 
eyes, and perhaps undertake something. In every case it 
would be better than sitting at Reichenhall. Both Pani 
Emilia and Litka heard the news of his departure without 
surprise. They knew that he had come only for a few 
weeks, and they hoped to see him soon in Warsaw. Pani 
Emilia was to go in the middle of August. For the rest of 
the month she decided to remain with Vaskovski in Salz- 
burg, and return then to Warsaw. Meanwhile she promised 
to inform Pan Stanislav of Litka’s health frequently, and 
besides correspond with Marynia and learn what her 
thoughts really were touching Mashko. 

On the day of his departure, Pani Emilia and Litka, with 
Vaskovski, took farewell of him at the station. When in 
the compartment, he was rather sorry to go. Happen what 
might, he knew not how things would turn out at Warsaw ; 
here he was surrounded by persons who were the sincerest 
well-wishers that he had in the world. Looking out through 
the window, he beheld the sad eyes of Litka raised toward 
him, and the friendly face of Pani Emilia, with the same 
feeling as if they had been his own family. And again 
that uncommon beauty of the young widow struck him,—her 
features, delicate to the verge of excess, her angelic expres- 


86 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


sion of face, and her form perfectly maidenlike, dressed in 
black. 

“ Farewell,” said Pani Emilia, “and write to us from 
Warsaw ; we shall see each other in three weeks or sooner.” 

“Tn three weeks,” repeated Pan Stanislav. “I will write 
certainly. Till we meet again, Litus!” 

“Till we meet again! Bow from me to Evka and Yoasia.” 

“JT will do so.” 

And he stretched out his hand through the window again : 

“Till our next meeting! Remember your friend.” 

“ We will not forget; we will not forget. Do you wish 
me to repeat a novena for your intention?” asked Pani 
Emilia, smiling. 

‘Thank you for that too. Do so, Till we meet again, 
Professor.” 

The train moved that moment. Pani Emila and Litka 
waved their parasols till the more frequent puffing of the 
engine hid, with rolls of steam and smoke, the window 
through which Pan Stanislav was looking. 

“Mamma,” asked Litka, “is it really necessary to say a 
novena for Pan Stas ?” 

“Yes, Litus. He is so kind to us, we must pray to 
God to make him happy.” 

“But is he unhappy ?” 

“ No—that is —seest thou, every one has trouble, and 
he has his.” 

“T know; I heard in Thumsee,” said the little girl. And 
after a while she added in a low voice, — 

“T will say a novena.” 

But Professor Vaskovski, who was so honest that he 
could not hold his tongue, said after a time to Pani Emilia, 
when Litka had gone forward, — 

“That is a golden heart, and he loves you both as a 
brother. Now that the specialist has assured us that there 
is not the least fear, I can tell everything. Pan Stanislav 
brought him here purposely, for he was alarmed about the 
little girl in Thumsee.” 

“Did he bring him?” asked Pani Emilia. “What a 
man!” And tears of gratitude came to her eyes. After a 
while she said, “But I will reward him, for I will give 
him Marynia.” 

Pan Stanislav went away with a heart full of good wishes 
and gratitude to Pani Emilia, for the man who has failed 
and for that reason falls into trouble, feels the friendship 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 87 


of people more keenly than others. Sitting in the corner 
of the compartment, with the image of Pani Emilia fresh in 
his mind, he said to himself, — 

“Tf I had fallen in love with her! What rest, what cer- 
tainty of happiness! An object in hfe would have been 
found; I should know for whom I am working, I should 
know whose I am, I should know that my existence has 
some meaning. She says, it is true, that she will not marry, 
but me!—she might, who knows? That other is perfec- 
tion, perhaps, but she may have a very dry heart.” 

Here he feels suddenly: “Still I can think calmly about 
Pani Emilia; while at every recollection of that other a 
certain unquiet seizes me, which is at once both bitter and 
agreeable. Jam drawn by something toward that other. I 
have just pressed Pani Emilia’s hand, and that pressure has 
left no sensation ; while even now I remember the warm 
palm of Marynia, and feel a certain species of quiver at the 
very thought of it.” 

As far as Salzburg, Pan Stanislav thought only of “ that 
other.” This time his thoughts began to “take the form, if 
not of resolves, at least of “questions, —how is he to act 
toward her, and what in this state of affairs is his duty ? 

“Tt is not to be denied that I caused the sale of Kremen,” 
said he to himself. ‘“ Kremen had for her not only the 
money value, which might perhaps have been drawn from 
it had the sale not been hastened, but also the value with 
which her heart was bound to the place. I have deprived 
her of both. Briefly speaking, I have wronged her. I 
have acted legally; but for a conscience made up of some- 
thing more than paragraphs, that is not sufficient. I have 
offended her, I confess, and I must correct my fault in 
some way. But how? Buy Kremen from Mashko? I 
am not rich enough. I might perhaps do so by dissolving 
partnership with Bigiel and withdrawing all my capital ; 
but that is materially impossible. Bigiel might fail, should 
I do that; hence I will not do it. There is one other way, 
—to keep up relations as best I can with Plavitski, and 
propose later on for the hand of his daughter. If rejected, 
I shall have done at least what behooves me.” 

But here that second internal man, of whom Pan Stanis- 
lav made mention, raised his voice and began, — 

“Do not shield thyself with a question of conscience. 
If Panna Plavitski were ten years older and ugly, thou 
mightst have caused in the same way the sale of Kremen, 


88 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


and taken from her everything which thou hast taken, and 
still it would not have come to thy head to ask for her 
hand. Tell thyself straightway that Panna Plavitski draws 
thee, as with nippers, by her face, her eyes, her lips, her 
arms, her whole person, and do not tempt thyself.” 

But, in general, Pan Stanislav held that second internal 
man firmly, and treated him sometimes with very slight 
ceremony. Following this method, he said to him, — 

“First, thou knowest not, fool, that even in that case I 
should not try to make good the injury. That at present 
I wish to make it good by proposing for the lady is natural. 
Men always ask to marry women who please them, not 
those for whom they feel repulsion. If thou hast nothing 
better to say, then be silent.” 

The internal man ventured a few more timid remarks, as, 
for instance, that Plavitski might give command to throw 
Pan Stanislav downstairs; that in the best case he might 
not permit him to cross the threshold. But somehow Pan 
Stanislav was not afraid of this. “People,” thought he, 
‘do not use such means now; and if the Plavitskis do not 
receive me, so much the worse for them.” 

He admitted, however, that if they had even a little 
tact they would receive him. He knew that he would see 
Marynia at Pani Emilia’s. 

Meditating in this way, he arrived at Salzburg. There 
was one hour till the arrival of the train from Monachium, 
by which he was to go to Vienna; hence he decided 
to walk about the town. That moment he saw in the 
restaurant the bright-colored pea-jacket of Bukatski, his 
monocle, and his small head, covered with a still smaller 
soft cap. 

“ Bukatski or his spirit!” cried he. 

“Calm thyself, Pan Stanislav,” answered Bukatski, 
phlegmatically, greeting him as if they had parted an hour 
before. “ How art thou?” 

“What art thou doing here? ” 

“Eating a cutlet.” 

“To Reichenhall ?” 

“Yes. But thou art homeward ?” 

‘Wen?’ 

“Thou hast proposed to Pani Emilia?” 

“ NiO: 

“Then I forgive thee. Thou mayst go.” 

“Keep thy conceits for a fitter season. Litka is in very 
great danger.” 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 89 


Bukatski grew serious, and said, raising his brows, — 

“Ai, ai! Is that perfectly certain ?” 

Pan Stanislav told briefly the opinion of the doctor. 
Bukatski listened for a while; then he said, — 

«“ And is a man not to be a pessimist in this case? Poor 
child and poor mother! In the event of misfortune, I can- 
not imagine in any way how she will endure it.” 

“She is very religious; but it is terrible to think of 
this.” 

“Let us walk through the town a little,” said Bukatsk1; 
“one might stifle here.” 

They went out. 

“Anda man in such straits is not to be a pessimist!” 
exclaimed Bukatski. “What is Litka? Simply a dove! 
Every one would spare her; but death will not spare her.” 

Pan Stanislav was silent. 

“T know not myself now,” continued Bukatski, “ whether 
to go to Reichenhall or not. In Warsaw, when Pani Emiha 
is there, even I can hold out. Once a month I propose to 
her, once a month I receive a refusal; and thus I live from 
the first of one month to the first of the next. The first 
of the month has just passed, and I am anxious for my pen- 
sion. Is the mother aware of the little girl’s condition ? ” 

“No. The child is in danger; but perhaps a couple of 
years remain yet to her.” 

“Ah! perhaps no more remain to any of us. Tell me, 
dost thou think of death often ?” 

“No. How would that help me? I know that I must 
lose the case; therefore I do not break my head over it, 
especially before the time.” 

“Tn this is the point, — we must lose, but still we keep up 
the trial to the end. This is the whole sense of life, which 
otherwise would be simply a dreary farce, but now it is a 
dull tragedy as well. As to me, I have three things at 
present to choose from: to hang myself, go to Reichenhall, 
or go to Monachium to see Boecklin’s pictures once more. 
If I were logical, I should choose the first ; since I am not, 
I’ll choose Reichenhall. Pani Emilia is worth the Boeck- 
lins, both as to outline and color.” 

“ What is to be heard in Warsaw ?” asked on a sudden 
Pan Stanislav, who had had that question on his lips from 
the first of the conversation. ‘“ Hast thou seen Mashko ?” 

“Thave. He has bought Kremen, he is a great landholder, 
and, since he has wit, he is using all his power not to seem, 


90 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


too great. He is polite, sensible, flattering, accessible; he 
is changed, not to my advantage, it is true, for what do I 
care ? but surely to his own.” 

“Ts n’t he going to marry Panna Plavitski 

“T hear that he wants to. Thy partner, Bigiel, said 
something of this, also that Mashko bought Kremen on 
conditions more than favorable. Thou wilt tind clearer 
news in the city.” 

“ Where are the Plavitskis at present ?” 

“In Warsaw. They are living in the Hotel Rome. 
The young woman is not at all ugly. I called on them as 
a cousin, and talked about thee.” 

“Thou mightst have chosen a more agreeable subject for 
them.” 

“Plavitski, who is glad of what has happened, told me 
that thou hadst done them a service, without wishing it 
certainly, but thou hadst done it. I asked the young lady 
how it was that she saw thee in Kremen for the first time. 
She answered that during her visit in Warsaw thou must 
have been in foreign countries.” 

“Tn fact, 1 was gone then on business of the firm to 
Berlin, and I remained there some time.”’ 

“Indeed, I did not observe that they were offended at 
thee. I heard so much, however, of the young lady’s love 
of country life, that she must, I admit, be a little angry at 
thee for having taken Kremen from her. In every case, 
she does not show any anger.” 

“Perhaps she will show it only to me; and the oppor- 
tunity will not be lacking, for I shall visit them immedi- 
ately after my return.” 

“Tn that case do me one little service: marry the lady, 
for of two evils I prefer to be thy cousin rather than 
Mashko’s.” 

“Very well,” replied Pan Stanislav, curtly. 


9” 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 91 


CHAPTER IX. 


Arter his return to Warsaw, Pan Stanislav went first of 
all to Bigiel, who told him minutely the conditions on which 
Kremen was sold. Those conditions were very profitable 
for Mashko. He bound himself to pay at the end of a 
year thirty-five thousand rubles, which were to come from 
the parcelling of Magyerovka, and besides to pay three 
thousand yearly till the death of Pan Plavitski. To Pan 
Stanislav the bargain did not seem at first too unfavorable 
for Plavitski; but Bigiel was of another opinion. 

“T do not judge people too hastily,” said he; “but 
Plavitski is an incurable old egotist who has sacrificed the 
future of his child to his own comfort, and, besides, he is 
frivolous. In this case the annuity is placed as it were on 
Kremen; but Kremen, as a ruined estate, on which there 
is need to spend money, has a fictitious value. If Mashko 
puts it in order, very well; if not, in the most favorable 
event he will fall behind in payment, and Plavitski may 
not see a copper for years. What will he do then? He 
will take Kremen back. But before that time Mashko will 
contract new debts, even to pay the old ones; and, in 
ease of his bankruptcy, God knows how many creditors 
will stretch their hands after Kremen. Finally, all depends 
on the honesty of Mashko, who may be a correct man, 
but he is carrying on business riskily; if he takes one false 
step, it may ruin him. Who knows if this very purchase 
of Kremen be not such a step ? — for, wishing to bring the 
estate into order, he must draw on his credit to the utmost. 
I have seen men who succeeded a long time until they 
turned to buying great estates.” 

“The ready money for Magyerovka will temain with the 
Plavitskis always,” said Pan Stanislav, as if wishing to 
quiet his own fears for their future. 

“Tf old Plavitski does not eat it up, or play it away, or 
waste it.” 

“T must think of something. I caused the sale; I must 
help.” 

“Thou ?” asked Bigiel, with astonishment. “I thought 
that thy relations were broken forever.” 


92 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“T shall try to renew them. I will visit the Plavitskis 
to-morrow.” 

“T do not know that they will be glad to see thee.” 

* And I myself do not know.” 

* Dost wish I will go with thee? For it is a question 
of breaking the ice. They may not receive thee alone. It 
is a pity that my wife is not here. I sit by myself whole 
evenings and play on the violoncello. During the day I 
have time enough too; I can go with thee.” 

Pan Stanislav, however, refused, and next day he dressed 
himself with great care and went alone. He knew that ue 
was a presentable man; and though usually he did not 
think much of this, he resolved now to omit nothing which 
might speak in his favor. On the way he had his head 
full of thoughts as to what he should say, what he snould 
do inthis case or that one, and he tried to foresee how they 
would receive him. 

**T will be as simple and outspoken as possible,” said he 
to himself; “that is the best method absolutely.” 

And, before he noted it, he found himself at the Hotel 
Rome. His heart began to beat then more quickly. 

“Tt would not be bad,” thought he, “if I should not find 
them at home. I could leave a card and see later on if 
Plavitski would acknowledge my visit.” 

But straightway he said to himself, “ Don’t be a coward,” 
and went forward. Learning from the servant that Pla- 
vitski was at home, he sent in his card, and after a while 
was invited to enter. 

Plavitski was sitting at a table writing letters, drawing 
at intervals smoke from a pipe with a great amber mouth- 
piece. At sight of Pan Stanislav he raised his head, and, 
looking at him through gold-rimmed glasses, said, — 

“T beg, I beg!” 

“T learned from Bigiel that you and Panna Plavitski 
were in W arsaw, ? said Pan Stanislav, “and I came to pay 
my respects.” 

“That was very pretty on thy part,” answered Plavitski, 
“and, to tell the truth, I did not expect it. We parted in 
a bitter manner and through thy fault. But since thou 
hast felt it thy duty to visit me, I, as the older, open my 
arms to thee a second time.” 

The opening of the arms, however, was confined to reach- 
ing across the table a hand, which Pan Stanislav pressed, 
saying in his own mind, — 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 93 


“May the Evil One take me, if I come here to thee, and 
if I feel toward thee any obligation!” After a while he 
asked, “You and your daughter are coming to live in 
Warsaw ?” 

“Yes. I aman old man of the country, accustomed to 
rise with the sun and to work in the fields; it will be 
grievous for me in your Warsaw. But it was not right to 
imprison my child; hence I made one sacrifice more for 
her.” 

Pan Stanislav, who had spent two nights in Kremen, 
remembered that Plavitski rose about eleven in the forenoon, 
and that he labored specially about the business of Kremen, 
not its fields; he passed this, however, in silence, for he had 
a head occupied with something else at that moment. From 
the chamber which Plavitski occupied, an open door led to 
another, which must be Marynia’s. It occurred to Pan 
Stanislav, who was looking in the direction of that door 
from the time of his entrance, that perhaps she did not 
wish to come out; therefore he inquired, — 

“But shall I not have the pleasure of seeing Panna 
Marynia ?” 

“Marynia has gone to look at lodgings which I found 
this morning. She will come directly, for they are only a 
couple of steps distant. Imagine to thyself a plaything, 
not lodgings. I shall have a cabinet and a sleeping-room ; 
Marynia also a very nice little chamber, — the dining-room 
is a trifle dark, it is true; but the drawing-room is a candy- 
box.” 

Here Plavitski passed into a narrative concerning his 
lodgings, with the volubility of a child amused by some- 
thing, or of an old lover of comfort, who smiles at every 
improvement. At last he said, — 

“T had barely looked around when I found myself at 
home. Dear Warsaw is my old friend; I know her well.” 

But at that moment some one entered the adjoining room. 

“That is Marynia, surely,” said Plavitski. “ Marynia, 
art thou there ?” called he. 

“T am,” answered a youthful voice. 

“Come here; we have a guest.” 

Marynia appeazed in the door. At sight of Pan Stanis- 
lav, astonishment shone on her face. He, rising, bowed; 
and when she approached the table, he stretched out his 
hand in greeting. She gave him her own with as much 
coldness as politeness. Then she turned to her father, as 
if no one else were present in the room, — 


94 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“T have seen the lodgings; they are neat and comfort- 
able, but I am not sure that the street is not too noisy.” 

“All streets are noisy,” answered Plavitski. “ Warsaw 
is not a village.” 

“Pardon me; I will go to remove my hat,” said Ma- 
rynia. And, returning to her room, she did not appear 
for some time. 

“She will not show herself again,” thought Pan Stan- 
islav. 

But evidently she was only arranging her hair before 
the mirror, after removing her hat; she entered a second 
time, and asked, — 

“ Am I interrupting ? ” 

“No,” said Plavitski, ‘we have no business now, for 
which, speaking in parenthesis, I am very glad. Pan Po- 
lanyetski has come only through politeness.” 

Pan Stanislav blushed a little, and, wishing to change 
the subject, said, — 

“JT am returning from Reichenhall; I bring you greetings 
from Pani Emilia and Litka, and that is one reason why I 
made bold to come.” 

For a moment the cool self-possession on Marynia’s face 
vanished. 

“Kmilia wrote to me of Litka’s heart attack,” said she. 
“ How is she now ?” 

“'There has not been a second attack.” 

“TJ expect another letter, and it may have come; but I 
have not received it, for Emilia addressed it very likely to 
Kremen.” 

“They will send it,” said Plavitski; “I gave directions 
to send all the mail here.” 

“You will not go back to the country, then?” asked 
Pan Stanislav. 

“No; we will not,” answered Marynia, whose eyes recov- 
ered their expression of cool self-possession. 

A moment of silence followed. Pan Stanislav looked at 
the young lady, and seemed to be struggling with himself. 
Her face attracted him with new power. He felt now 
more clearly that in such a person precisely he would find 
most to please him, that he could love such a one, that she 
is the type of his chosen woman, and all the more her cold- 
ness became unendurable. He would give now, God knows 
what, to find again in those features the expression which 
he saw in Kremen, the interest in his words, and the atten- 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 95 


tion, the transparency in those eyes full of smiles and 
roused curiosity. He would give, God knows what, to have 
all this return, and he knew not by what method to make it 
return, by a slow or a quick one; for this cause he hesitated. 
He chose at last that which agreed best with his nature. 

“I knew,” said he, suddenly, “how you loved Kremen, 
and in spite of that, perhaps, it is I who caused its sale. 
If that be the case, I tell you openly that I regret the act 
acutely, and shall never cease to regret it. In my defence 
I cannot even say that I did it while excited, and without 
intent. Nay, I had an intent; only it was malicious and 
irrational. All the greater is my fault, and all the more 
do I entreat your forgiveness.” 

When he had said this, he rose. His cheeks were flushed, 
and from his eyes shone truth and sincerity ; but his words 
remained without effect. Pan Stanislav went by a false 
road. He knew women in general too slightly to render 
account to himself of how far their judgments, especially 
their judgments touching men, are dependent on their feel- 
ings, both transient and permanent. In virtue of these 
feelings, anything may be taken as good or bad money ; 
anything interpreted for evil or good, recognized as true or 
false ; stupidity may be counted reason, reason stupidity, 
egotism devotion, devotion egotism, rudeness sincerity, 
sincerity lack of delicacy. The man who in a given mo- 
ment rouses dislike, cannot be right with a woman, cannot 
be sincere, cannot be just, cannot be well-bred. So Marynia, 
feeling deep aversion and resentment toward Pan Stanislav 
from the time of Mashko’s coming to Kremen, took sincerity 
simply ill of him. Her first thought was: “ What kind of 
man is this who recognizes as unreasonable and bad that 
which a few days ago he did with calculation ?” Then Kre- 
men, the sale of the place, Mashko’s visit and the meaning 
of that visit, which she divined, were for her hke a wound 
festering more and more. And now it seemed to her that 
Pan Stanislav was opening that wound with all the unspar- 
ingness of a man of rough nature and rude nerves. 

He rose, and with eyes fixed on her face, waited to see if 
a friendly and forgiving hand would not be extended to 
him, with a clear feeling that one such stretching forth of 
a hand might decide his fate; but her eyes grew dark for a 
moment, as if from pain and anger, and her face became 
still colder. 

“Let not that annoy you,” said she, with icy politeness. 


6 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“On the contrary, papa is very much satisfied with the 
bargain and with the whole arrangement with Pan 
Mashko.” 

She rose then, as if understanding that Pan Stanislav 
wished to take leave. He stood a moment stricken, disap- 
pointed, full of resentment and suppressed anger, full of 
that feeling of mortification which a man has when he is 
rejected. 

‘‘ Tf that is true, I desire nothing more.” 

“Tt is, itis! I did a good business,” concluded Plavitski. 

Pan Stanislav went out, and, descending a number of steps 
at atime with hat pressed down on his head, he repeated 
mentally, — 

“ A foot of mine will not be in your house again.” 

He feit, however, that, if he were to go home, anger would 
stifle him; he walked on, therefore, not thinking whither 
his feet were bearing him. It seemed to him at that 
moment that he did not love Marynia, that he even hated 
her; but still he thought about her, and if he had thought 
more calmly he would have told himself that the mere 
sight of her had affected him deeply. He had seen her 
now a second time, had looked on her, had compared 
that image of her which he had borne in his memory with 
the reality; the image became thereby still more definite, 
more really attractive, and acted the more powerfully on 
him. And, in spite of the anger, in the depth of his soul an 
immense liking for her raised its head, and a delight in the 
woman. There existed, as it were, for him two Marynias, — 
one the mild, friendly Marynia of Kremen, listening and 
ready to love; the other that icy young lady of Warsaw, 
who had rejected him. A woman often becomes dual in 
this way in the heart of a man, which is then most fre- 
quently ready to forgive this unfriendly one for the sake of 
that loved one. Pan Stanislav did not even admit that 
Marynia could be such as she had shown herself that day ; 
hence there was in his anger a certain surprise. Knowing 
his own undeniable worth, and being conceited enough, he 
carried within him a conviction, which he would not 
acknowledge to himself, that it was enough for him to 
extend his hand to have it seized. This time it turned out 
differently. That mild Marynia appeared suddenly, not 
only in the réle of a judge, who utters sentences and con- 
demns, but also in the role, as it were, of a queen, with whom 
it is possible to be in favor or disfavor. Pan Stanislav 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 97 


could not accustom himself to this thought, and he struggled 
with it; but such is human nature that, when he learned that 
for that lady he was not so much desired as he had thought, 
that she not only did not over-value him, but esteemed 
him lower than herself, in spite of his displeasure, offence, 
and anger, her value increasedin hiseyes. His self-love was 
wounded; but, on the other hand, his will, in reality strong, 
was ready to rush to the struggle with difficulties, and crush 
them. All these thoughts were circling chaotically in his 
head, or, instead of thoughts, they were rather feelings torn 
and tearing themselves. He repeated a hundred times to 
himself that he would drop the whole matter, that he must 
and wished to do so; and at the same time he was so weak 
and small that somewhere in the most secret corner of his 
soul he was counting that very moment on the arrival of 
Pani Emilia, and on the aid which her arrival would bring 
him. Sunk in this mental struggle, he did not recollect 
himself till he was halfway on the Zyazd, when he asked, 
““Why the misery have I gone to Praga?” He halted. 
The day was fine and was inclining toward evening. Lower 
down, the Vistula was flowing in the gleam of the sun; and 
beyond it, and beyond the nearer clumps of green, a broad 
country was visible, covered on the horizon with a rosy and 
blue haze. Far away, beyond that haze, was Kremen, which 
Marynia had loved and which she had lost.’ Pan Stanislav, 
fixing his eyes on the haze, said to himself, — 

“J am curious to know what she would have done had I 
given Kremen to her.” 

He could not imagine that to himself definitely; but he 
thought that the loss of that land was for her a great bitter- 
ness really, and he regretted it. In this sorrow his anger 
began to scatter and vanish as mist. His conscience 
whispered that he had received what he earned. Return- 
ing, he said to himself, “But I am thinking of all this 
continually.’’ 

And really he was. Never had he experienced, in the 
most important money questions, even half the disquiet, 
never had he been absorbed so deeply. And again he 
remembered what Vaskovski had said of himself, that his 
nature, like Pan Stanislav’s, could not fix its whole power on 
the acquisition of money. Never had he felt with such 
clearness that there might be questions more important 
than those of wealth, and simply more positive. For the 
second time a certain astonishment seized him. 

4 


98 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


It was nearly nine when he went to Bigiel’s. Bigiel was 
sitting in a spacious, empty house with doors opening on 
the garden veranda; he was playing on a violoncello in such 
fashion that everything through the house was quivering. 
When he saw Pan Stanislav he broke off a certain tremolo 
and inquired, — 

“ Hast thou been at the Plavitskis’ to-day ?” 

s¢ Ves.” 

“ How was the young lady ?” 

“Like a decanter of chilled water. On such a hot day 
that is agreeable. They are polite people, however.” 

“‘T foresaw this.” 

Play on.” 

Bigiel began to play “Triumerei,” and while playing 
closed his eyes, or turned them to the moon. In the still- 
ness the music seemed to fill with sweetness the house, the 
garden, and the night itself. When he had finished, he was 
silent for a time, and then said, — 

“Knowest what? When Pani Emilia comes, my wife 
will ask her to the country, and with her Marynia. Maybe 
those ices will thaw then between you.” 

“Play the ‘ Triiumerei’ once more.” 

The sounds were given out a second time, with calmness - 
and imagination. Pan Stanislav was too young not to be 
somewhat of a dreamer; hence he imagined that Marynia 
was listening with him to the “Triumerei,” with her hand 
in his hands, with her head on his bosom, loving much, and 
beloved above all in the world. 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 99 


CHAPTER X. 


PAN PrLavitski was what is called a well-bred man, for he 
returned Pan Stanislav’s visit on the third day. He did 
not return it on the second, for such haste would have 
indicated a wish to maintain intimate relations ; and not on 
the fourth nor the fifth, for that would have shown a want 
of acquaintance with the habits of society, — but only 
within the period most specially and exclusively indicated 
by command of savoir vivre. Plavitski prided himself all 
his life on a knowledge of those commands, and esteemed 
them as his own; the observances of them he considered 
as the highest human wisdom. It is true that, as a man of 
sense, he permitted other branches of knowledge to exist, 
on condition, however, that they should not be overesti- 
mated; and especially, that they should not have the claim 
to force themselves on to people who were truly well-bred. 

Pan Stanislav — for whom everything was desirable that 
would strengthen in any way the thread of further rela- 
tions with Marynia — was hardly able to conceal his delight 
at the arrival of Plavitski. That delight was evident in 
his agreeable reception, full of good-humor. He must have 
been astonished, besides, at Plavitski, and the influence 
which the city had exercised on him. His hair shone like 
the wing of a raven; his little mustaches were sticking up, 
vying with the color of his hair; his white shirt covered a 
slender form; his scarf-pin and black vest gave a certain 
holiday brillianey to his whole figure. 

“On my word, I did not recognize my uncle at the first 
moment!” cried Pan Stanislav. “I thought that some 
youngster was coming.” 

“Bon jour, bon jour!” answered Plavitski. “The day 
is cloudy; a little dark here. It must be for that reason 
that thou didst mistake me for a stripling.” 

“Cloudy or clear, what a figure!” answered Pan Stanis- 
lav. 

And seizing Plavitski by the side, without ceremony, he 
began to turn him around and say, — 

“A waist just like a young lady’s! Would that I might 
have such a one!” 


100 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Plavitski, offended greatly by such an unceremonious 
greeting, but still more delighted at the admiration roused 
by his person, said, defending himself, — 

“ Voyons! Thou art a lunatic. I might be angry. Thou 
art a lunatic!” 

“But uncle will turn as many heads as he pleases.” 

“ What dost thou say ?” asked Plavitski, sitting down in 
an armchair. 

“T say that uncle has come here for conquest.” 

“T have no thought whatever of that. Thou art a 
lunatic !” 

“But Pani Yamish? or haven’t I seen with my own 
eyes —” 

“ What ? ” 

Here Plavitski shut one eye and thrust out the point of 
his tongue; but that lasted only an instant, then he raised 
his brows, and said, — 

“Well, as to Pani Yamish? She is well enough in 
Kremen. Between thee and me, I cannot endure affecta- 
tion, —it savors of the country. May the Lord God not 
remember, for Pani Yamish, how much she has tortured me 


with her affectation: a woman should have courage to | 


grow old, then a relation would end in friendship; other- 
wise it becomes slavery.” 

“ And my dear uncle felt like a butterfly in bonds ? ” 

“But don’t talk in that way,” answered Plavitski, with 
dignity, “and do not imagine that there was anything 
between us. Even if there had been, thou wouldst not 
have heard a word about it from me. Believe me, there is 
a great difference between you of this and us of the preced- 
ing generation. We were not saints, perhaps; but we 
knew how to be silent, and that is a great virtue, without 
which what is called true nobility cannot exist.” 

“From this I infer that uncle will not confess to me 
where he is going, with this carnation in his buttonhole ?” 

“Oh, yes, yes! Mashko invited me to-day to dine with 
anumber of other persons. At first I refused, not wishing to 
leave Marynia alone. But I have sat so many years in the 
country for her sake that in truth a little recreation is due 
tome. But art thou not invited ?” 

“ No.” 

“That astonishes me: thou art, as thou sayest, an ‘ affair- 
ist’; but thou bearest a good family name. For that 
matter, Mashko is an advocate himself. But, in general, I 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 101 


confess that I did not suspect in Mashko the power to 
place himself as he has.” 

“ Mashko could place himself even on his head —” 

‘“‘He goes everywhere; all receive him. Once I hada 
prejudice against him.” 

“And has uncle none now ? ” 

“T must acknowledge that he has acted with me in all 
that business of. Kremen like a gentleman.” 

“Ts Panna Marynia of the same opinion ?” 

“Certainly ; though I think that Kremen lies on her 
heart. I got rid of it for her sake, but youth cannot 
understand everything. I knew about her views, however, 
and am ready to endure every bitterness with calm. As 
to Mashko, in truth, she cannot cast reproach at him for 
anything. He bought Kremen, it is true, but — ” 

“But he is ready to give it back ?” 

“Thouart of the family, so, speaking between us, I think 
that that is true. Marynia occupied him greatly, even 
during our former visit to Warsaw ; but somehow the affair 
did not move. The maiden was too young; he did not please 
her sufficiently ; I was a little opposed myself, for I was 
prejudiced as to his family. Bukatski sharpened his teeth 
at him, so it ended in nothing.” 

“Tt did not end, since it is beginning again.” 

“Tt is, for Iam convinced that he comes of a very good 
family, once Italian and formerly called Masco. They 
came here with Queen Bona, and settled in White Russia 
at that time. He, if thou hast noticed it, has a face some- 
what Italian.” 

“No; he has a Portuguese face.” 

“That is all one, however. But the plan to sell Kremen 
and still to keep it — no common head could have worked 
that out. As to Mashko— yes I think that such is his 
plan. Marynia is a strange girl, though. It is bitter to say 
this, that a man understands a stranger sooner than his 
own child. But if she will only say as Talleyrand did, 
‘ Paris vaut la messe.” 

“Ah, I thought that it was Henry IV. who said that.” 

“Thou didst, for thou art an ‘affairist,’ a man of recent 
times. History and ancient deeds are not to the taste of 
you young men, ye prefer to make money. Everything 
depends, then, on Marynia; but I will not hurry her. I will 
not, for, finally, with our connections, a better match may 
be found. It is necessary to go out a little among people 


102 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


and find old acquaintances. ‘That is only toil and torment; 
but what is necessary, is necessary. ‘Thou thinkest that 
I go to this dinner with pleasure. No! but I must receive 
young people sometimes. I hope too that thou wilt not 
forget us.” 

“No, no; I will not.” 

“Dost know what they say of thee ?—that thou art 
making money infernally. Well, well, I don’t know whom 
thou art like — not like thy father! In every case, I am 
not the man to blame thee, no, no! Thou didst throttle 
me without mercy, didst treat me as the wolf did the lamb; 
but there is in thee something which pleases me, — I have 
for thee a kind of weakness.” 

“The feeling is mutual,” said Pan Stanislav. 

In fact, Plavitski did not lie. He had an instinctive 
respect for property, and that young man, who was gaining 
it, roused in him a certain admiration, bordering on sym- 
pathy. He was not some poor relative who might ask for 
assistance ; and therefore Plavitski, though for the moment 
he had no calculations in regard to Pan Stanislav, resolved 
to keep up relations with him. At the end of the visit he 
began to look around on the apartments. 

“Thou hast fine lodgings! ” said he. 

That, too, was true. Pan Stanislav had a dwelling 
furnished as if he were about to marry. The furnishing 
itself caused him pleasure, for it gave a certain show of 
reality to his wishes. 

Plavitski, looking around at the drawing-room, beyond 
which was another smaller apartment furnished very 
elegantly, inquired, — 

“Why not marry ? ” 

“T will when I can.” 

Plavitski smiled cunningly, and, patting Pan Stanislav 
on the knee, began to repeat, — 

“JT know whom; I know whom.” 

“ Wit is needed in this case!” cried Pan Stanislav ; “ try 
to keep a secret from such a diplomat.” 

“Ah ha! whom ? The widow, the widow — whom ?” 

“ Dear uncle! ” 

“Well? May God bless thee, as I bless thee! But 
now I am going, for it is time to dine, and in the evening 
there will be a concert in Dolina.” 

“Tn company with Mashko ? ” 

“ No, with Marynia; but Mashko too will be there.” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 103 


“T will go also, with Bigiel.” 

“Then we shall see each other. A mountain cannot 
meet a mountain, but a man may meet a man any time.” 

“As Talleyrand said.” 

“Till our next meeting, then !” 

Pan Stanislav liked music at times; he had had no 
thought, though, of going to this concert; but when 
Plavitski mentioned it, a desire of seeing Mashko seized 
him. After Plavitski had gone, he thought some time 
yet whether to go or not; but it might be said that he did 
this for form’s sake, since he knew in advance that he 
would not hold out and would go. Bigiel, who came to 
him for a business consultation in the afternoon, let him- 
self be persuaded easily, and about four o’clock they were 
in Dolina. 

The day, though in September, was so warm and pleasant 
that people had assembled numerously ; the whole audience 
had a summer look. On all sides were bright-colored 
dresses, parasols, and youthful women, who had swarmed 
forth like many-colored butterflies, warmed by the sun. In 
this swarm, predestined for love, or already the object of 
that feeling and entertaining it, and assembled there for the 
pursuit of love and for music, Marynia also was to appear. 
Pan Stanislav remembered his student years, when he was 
enamoured of unknown maidens whom he sought in throngs 
of people, and made mistakes every moment, through sim1- 
larity of hat, hair, and general appearance. And it hap- 
pened now to him, to mistake at a distance a number of 
persons for Marynia, — persons more or less like her; and 
now, as before, whenever he said to himself, “ This is 
she!” he felt those quivers at the heart, that disquiet 
which he had felt formerly. To-day, however, anger came 
on him, for this seemed to him ridiculous; and, besides, 
he feit that such eagerness for meetings and interviews, by 
occupying a man, and fixing his attention on one woman, 
increases the interest which she excites, and binds him all 
the more to her. 

Meanwhile the orchestra began to play before he could 
find her for whom he was looking. If was necessary to sit 
down and listen, which he did unwillingly, secretly impa- 
tient with Bigiel, who listened with closed eyes. After the 
piece was ended, he saw at last Plavitski’s shining cylinder, 
and his black mustaches ; beyond him the profile of Marynia. 
Mashko sat third, calm, full of distinction, with the mien of 


104 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


an English lord. At times he talked to Marynia, and she 
turned to him, nodding slightly. 

‘The Plavitskis are there,” said Pan Stanislav. “We 
must greet them.” 

“Where dost thou see them ?” 

“ Over there, with Mashko.” 

“True. Let us go.” 

And they went. 

Marynia, who liked Pani Bigiel, greeted Bigiel very 
cordially. She bowed to Pan Stanislav not with such cool- 
ness as to arrest attention; but she talked with Bigiel, in- 
quiring for the health of his wife and children. In answer, 
he invited her and her father very earnestly to visit them 
on the following week, at his place in the country. 

“My wife will be happy, very happy !” repeated he. 
“Pani Emilia too will come.” 

Marynia tried to refuse ; but Plavitski, who sought enter- 
tainment, and who knew from his former stay in Warsaw 
that Bigiel lived well, accepted. It was settled that they 
would dine, and return in the evening. The trip was an 
easy one, for Bigiel’s villa was only one station distant 
from Warsaw. 

‘‘Meanwhile sit near us,” said Plavitski; ‘‘right here a 
number of seats are unoccupied.” 

Pan Stanislav had turned already. to Marynia, — 

“ Have you news from Pani Emilia? ” 

“T wished to ask if you had,” answered she. 

*T have not; but to-morrow I shall inquire about Litka 
by telegram.” 

Here the conversation stopped. Bigiel took the seat 
next to Plavitski, Pan Stanislav on the outside. Marynia 
turned to Mashko again, so that Pan Stanislav could see 
only her profile, and that not completely. It seemed to 
him that she had grown somewhat thin, or at least her 
complexion had become paler and more delicate during her 
stay of a few weeks in Warsaw; hence her long eyelashes 
were more sharply defined and seemed to cast more shade. 
Her whole form had become more exquisite, as it were. 
The effect was heightened by a careful toilet and equally 
careful arrangement of hair, the style of which was different 
from what it had been. Formerly she wore her hair bound 
lower down, now it was dressed more in fashion; that is, 
high under her hat. Pan Stanislav noted her elegant form 
at a glance, and admired with his whole soul the charm of it, 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 105 


which was evident in everything, even in the way in which 
she held her hands on her knees. She seemed very beauti- 
fulto him. He felt again with great force that if every 
man bears within him his own type of female charm, which 
is the measure of the impression that a given woman makes 
on him, Marynia is for him so near his type that she 
and it are almost identical, and, looking at her, he said to 
himself, — 

“Oh to have such a wife, to have such a wife!” 

But she turned to Mashko. Perhaps she turned even too 
often; and if Pan Stanislav had preserved all his coolness of 
blood, he might have thought that she did so to annoy him, 
and that was the case, perhaps. Their conversation must 
have been animated, however, for, from time to time, a 
bright blush flashed over her face. 

“But she is simply playing the coquette with him,” 
thought Pan Stanislav, gritting his teeth. And he wanted 
absolutely to hear what they were saying; that was difficult, 
however. ‘The audience, during the long intervals, was 
noisy enough. Separated by two persons from Marynia, 
Pan Stanislav could not hear what she said; but after a 
new piece of music had been finished, he heard single 
words and opinions from Mashko, who had the habit 
of speaking with emphasis, so as to give greater weight 
to each word. 

“JT Jike him,” said Mashko. ‘‘ Every man has a weak- 
ness; his weakness is money — I am grateful to him, for 
he persuaded me — to Kremen— _ I think, besides, that he 
is a sincere well-wisher of yours, for he has not spared — 
I confess, too, that he roused my curiosity.” 

Marynia answered something with great vivacity; then 
Pan Stanislav heard again the end of Mashko’s answer, — 

‘¢A character not formed yet, and intelligence perhaps 
less than energy, but a nature rather good.” 

Pan Stanislav understood perfectly that they were talk- 
ing of him, and recognized Mashko’s tactics equally well. 
To judge, as it were, with reason and impartially, rather, to 
praise, or at least to recognize various qualities, and at 
the same time to strip them of every charm, was a method 
well known to the young advocate. Through this he 
raised himself to the exceptional, and, as it were, higher 
position of a judge. Pan Stanislav knew, too, that Mashko 
spoke not so much with intent to lower him, as to exalt 
himself, and that likely he would have said the same thing 


106 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


of every other young man in whom he might suspect a 
possible rival. 

They were finally the tactics which Pan Stanislav him- 
self might have used in a similar case; this did not hinder 
him, however, from considering them in Mashko as the 
acme of perversity, and he determined to pay him if the 
opportunity offered. 

Toward the end of the concert he was able to see how 
far Mashko was assuming the role of suitor, When Ma- 
rynia, wishing to tie her veil, had removed her gloves and 
they had fallen from her knees, Mashko raised them and held 
them, together with her parasol; at the same time he took 
her wrap from the side of the chair and placed it across his 
arm, so as to give it to her when they were leaving the 
garden, — in a word, he was entirely occupied with the lady, 
though he preserved the coolness and tact of a genuine 
man of society. He seemed also sure of himself and happy. 
In fact, Marynia, beyond the brief conversation with Bigiel, 
talked only with Mashko during the time when she was 
not listening to the music. When they moved toward the 
gate, she went with him and before her father. Again Pan 
Stanislav saw her smiling profile turning to Mashko. 
While talking, they looked into each other’s eyes. Her face 
was vivacious, and her attention directed exclusively to 
what he was saying. She was, in fact, coquetting with 
Mashko, who saw it himself, without admitting, however, 
for a moment, in spite of his cleverness, that she could do 
so merely to worry Pan Stanislav. 

Before the gate a carriage was waiting in which Mashko 
seated her and her father. He began then to take leave of 
them; but Marynia, inclining toward him, said, — ) 

“How is this? Papa has invited you; is it not true, 
papa ? ” ; 

“ He was to come with us,” said Plavitski. 

Mashko took his seat in the carriage, and they drove 
away, exchanging bows with Bigiel and Pan Stanislav. 
The two friends walked on a good while in silence; at last 
Pan Stanislav said, feigning calmness in his voice, — 

“T am curious to know if they are betrothed.” 

“JT do not think they are,” said Bigiel; “but it is 
tending that way.” 

“T too see that.” 

“T thought that Mashko would seek property. But he is 
in love, and that may happen even to a man who is think 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 107 


ing only of a career. Mashko is in love. Besides, by tak- 
ing her he will free himself from paying for Kremen, 
No, the business is not so bad as it seems, and the lady is 
very pretty; what is true, is true.” 

And they were silent again. But Pan Stanislav felt so 
oppressed that he could not control himself. 

“This thought that she will marry him is simply a tor- 
ment to we. And this helplessness! I should prefer any- 
thing to such helplessness. I speak to thee openly. What 
a stupid and ridiculous rdle I have played in the whole 
affair !” 

“Thou hast gone too far, — that may happen to any one; 
that thou wert her father’s creditor is the fault of remark- 
able circumstances. Thy understanding of such matters 
‘differs utterly from his: thou and he are men from two 
different planets, hence the misunderstanding. Perhaps 
the affair was too sharply put by thee; but when I think it 
all over, too great mildness was not proper, even out of 
regard to Panna Marynia. By making too great abate- 
ments thou wouldst have made them for her, —is it not 
true? What would have resulted? This, that she helped 
her father in exploiting thee. No; it was for thee to finish 
the matter.” 

Here the prudent Bigiel checked himself, thought a 
moment, and said, — 

“And as to thy roéle, there is one escape: to withdraw 
completely, leave events to their course, and tell thyself 
that all is going according to thy idea.” 

“ How will it help me,’ cried Pan Stanislav, violently, 
“to say that, when all is going against my idea ? — and since 
I feel foolish, there is no help for it. How could there be ? 
To begin with, I did all this myself, and now I want to 
undo it. All my life I have known what I wanted, but 
this time I have acted as if I didn’t know.” 

“There are passages in life to be forgotten.” 

“That may be, my dear man, but meanwhile interest in 
life falls away. Is the question whether I am well or ill, 
rich or naked, the same to me now as it once was? I feel 
sick at the very thought of the future. Thou art estab- 
lished and connected with life; but what am I? There 
was a prospect; now there is none. That gives a great 
distaste for things.” 

“But surely Panna Marynia is not the only woman on 
earth.” 





108 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


«“ Why say that? She isthe only one now; were there 
another, I should think of that other. What is the use of 
such talk? In this lies the question, in this the- whole 
evil, —that she is the only one. A year from nowa tile may 
fall on my head, or I may find another woman: what will 
happen to-morrow I know not; but that the deuce is tak- 
ing me to-day, I do know. This is connected in me with 
other things too, of which to-day I do not care to speak. 
In external life it is necessary to eat bread in peace, —is 
not that true? In internal life it is the same. And this is 
anurgent affair; but I defer internal life till after marriage, 
for I understand that new conditions work out a new way 
of thinking, and moreover, I wish to finish one thing before 
beginning another. But everything grows involved, — not 
only involved, but vanishes. Barely has something ap- 
peared when it is gone. This is the case now. I live in 
uncertainty. I would prefer if they were already betrothed, 
for then all would end of itself.” 

“T tell thee only this,” said Bigiel: “when I was a boy, I 
got a thorn in me sometimes; it pained much less to draw 
the thorn out myself than to let some one else draw it.” 

“Tn that thou art right,” said Pan Stanislav, who added 
after a while, “The thorn may be drawn if it has not gone 
in too deeply, and one can seize it. But what are compari- 
sons! When a thorn is drawn out, nothing is lost; but my 
hope of the future is ruined.” 

“That may be true; but if there is no help for it ?” 

“To accept that view is just what grieves the man who 
is not an imbecile.” 

The conversation stopped here. At the moment of 
parting Pan Stanislav said, — 

“By the way, I should prefer not to be with you op 
Sunday.” 

“ Maybe thou wilt do well to stay away.” 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 109 


CHAPTER XI. 


A SURPRISE was waiting at home for Pan Stanislav; he 
found the following despatch from Pani Emiha, “TI leave 
here for home to-morrow evening; Litka is well.”’ This 
return was unexpected, or at least uncommonly hurried; 
but since the despatch contained an assurance as to Litka’s 
health, Pan Stanislav understood that Pani Emilia was 
returning for the sole purpose of occupying herself with 
his affair, and his heart rose in gratitude. ‘There is an 
honest nature,” said he to himself; “that is a friend.” And 
with thankfulness there rose in his heart such hope, as if 
Pani Emilia had the ring of an enchantress, or a magic 
rod, with which she could change the heart of Panna 
Marynia in an instant. Pan Stanislav did not know clearly 
how this could be done; but he knew that one person at 
least wished him well with deep sincerity, would speak for 
him, would justify him, would exalt his heart and character 
and diminish prejudices, which the course of events had 
accumulated against him. He calculated that Pani Emilia 
would be very persevering, and that for her this would be 
a question of duty. A man who is troubled by something 
is glad to find a person on whom to put responsibility. So 
in moments of rising bitterness, especially, it seemed to 
Pan Stanislav that Pani Emilia was responsible for his 
relations with Marynia; for if she had not shown that 
letter from which Marynia’s readiness to love him was evi- 
dent, he would have been able to take his mind and heart 
from her. Perhaps this was true, since in the history of 
his feelings this letter did in fact play a leading part. It 
showed him how near happiness had been, almost secured ; 
to what extent in her own mind Marynia had given him heart 
andsoul. Itis more difficult to throw away happiness which 
is not only desired, but begun; and, had it not been for 
that letter, Pan Stanislav might have regretted the past less, 
forgotten it more easily, and reconciled himself to the 
position more readily. At present he thought it even her 
duty to help him with all her power. Finally, he under- 
stood that the affair would move, as it were, of itself; he 
hoped to see Marynia often, and in conditions most favor- 


110 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


able, since he would see her in a house where he was loved 
and esteemed, and where like feelings must be communi- 
cated to each guest. All this strengthened Pan Stanislay’s 
hope; but it added new links to those which bound his 
thoughts to Marynia. Previously he had promised himself 
not to go to Bigiel’s (on Sunday); now he changed his 
decision, thinking that, if only health permitted, Pani Emilia 
too would take part in the trip. _Aside from reasons con- 
nected with Marynia, he rejoiced from his whole soul to 
see the beloved faces of Pani Emilia and Litka, who were 
his greatest attachments in life so far. 

That same evening he wrote a few words to Plavitski 
touching the arrival, supposing that Marynia would be 
thankful for that information; he gave notice at Pani 
Emilia’s, so that servants would be waiting in the morning 
with tea; and he hired a commodious carriage to take her 
and Litka to their home. 

Next morning at five he was at the station; while wait- 
ing for the train, he began to run briskly along the plat- 
form to warm himself somewhat, since the morning was 
cool. Remote objects, the station buildings, and the cars 
standing on the near rails, were sunk in fog, which, very 
dense near the ground, became rose-colored and shining 
higher up, announcing that the day would be pleasant. 
Except officials and servants, there was no one on the plat- 
form yet, because of the early hour; gradually, however, 
people began to arrive. All at once two forms came out 
of the fog; in one of these Pan Stanislav, with beating 
heart, recognized Marynia, who was hastening, with her 
maid, to greet Pani Emilia. As he had not expected the 
meeting, he was greatly confused at the first moment. 
She stopped short, as if astonished or troubled. After a 
while, however, he approached and extended his hand to 
her, — 

“ Good-day!” said he. “And truly it will be a good 
day for us both if our travellers arrive.” 

“Then is it not certain ?” asked Marynia. 

“Of course it is certain, unless something unlooked for 
prevents. I received a despatch yesterday, and sent the 
news to Pan Plavitski, thinking that you would be glad to 
hear it.” 

“ Thank you. The surprise was so pleasant !” 

“The best proof of that is that you have risen so early.” 

“T have not lost the habit of early rising yet.” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 11) 


“We came too soon. The train will arrive only in half 
an hour. Meanwhile I advise you to walk, for the morn- 
ing is cool, though the day promises to be fine.” 

“The fog is clearing,” said Marynia, raising her blue 
eyes, which to Pan Stanislav seemed violet in the light of 
the morning. 

“Do you wish to walk along the platform ?” 

“Thank you; I prefer to sit in the waiting-room.” 

And, nodding, she went away. Pan Stanislav began to 
fly with hurried steps along the platform. It was some- 
what bitter to think that she would not remain; but he 
explained to himself that perhaps this was not proper, 
and, besides, the bitterness was overcome by the pleasant 
thought of how the coming of Pani Emilia would bring 
them nearer, and how many meetings it would cause. 
A certain wonderful solace and good-humor continued to 
rise in him. He thought of the violet eyes of Marynia, 
and her face made rosy by the coolness of the morning; 
he rushed past the windows of the hall in which she was 
sitting, and said to himself almost joyfully, — 

“ Ah, ha! sit there, hide thyself! I will find thee.” And 
he felt with greater force than ever how dear she might 
become to him, if she would be kind even in a small degree. 

Meanwhile bells sounded; anda few minutes later, in the 
fog, still dense at the earth, though the sky above was blue, 
appeared the dim outlines of the train, which, as it ap- 
proached, became more clearly defined. The engine, putting 
interrupted clumps of smoke, rolled in with decreasing 
movement, and, stopping, began with noise and hissing to 
belch forth under its front wheels the useless remnant of 
steam. 

Pan Stanislav sprang to the sleeping-car; the first face 
at the window was Litka’s, which at sight of him grew as 
radiant as if a sudden sunbeam had fallen on it. The little 
girl’s hands began to move joyously, beckoning to Pan 
Stanislav, who was in the car in one moment. 

“My dearest little kitten!” cried he, seizing Litka’s 
hand, “and hast thou slept ; art thou well ? ” 

“Tam well; and we have come home. And we/’ll be 
together — and good-day, Pan Stas!” 

Right behind the little girl stood Pani Emilia, whose 
hand “Pan Stas” kissed very cordially ; and he began to 
speak quickly, as people do at time of greeting, — 

“Good day to the dear lady. I have a carriage. You 


2 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


ean go at once. My servant will take your baggage; L ask 
only for the check. They are waiting for you at home 
with tea. Pray give the check. Panna Plavitski is here too.” 

Panna Plavitski was waiting, in fact, outside the car; 
and she and Pani Emilia shook hands, with faces full of 
smiles. Litka looked for a moment at Marynia, as if hesi- 
tating; after a while, however, she threw herself on her 
neck with her usual cordiality. 

“Marynia, thou wilt go with us to tea,” said Pani Emilia. 
“Tt is ready, and thou art fasting, of course.” 

“ Thou art tired, travelling all night.” 

“From the boundary we slept as if killed; and when we 
woke, we had time to wash and dress. In every case we 
must drink tea. Thou wilt go with us ?” 

“T will, with the greatest pleasure.” 

But Litka began to pull at her mother’s dress. 

“Mamma, and Pan Stas.” 

“But, naturally, Pan Stas too,—he thought of every- 
thing. Thanks to him, everything is ready. He must go 
with us, of course.” 

“He must; he must!” cried Litka, turning to Pan Stan- 
islav, who answered, smiling, — 

“Not he must; but he wants to.” 

And after a moment all four took their places in the ear- 
riage. Pan Stanislav was in excellent humor. Marynia 
was before him, and at his side little Litka. It seemed to 
him that the morning brightness was entering him, and 
that better days were beginning. He felt that henceforth 
he would belong to an intimate circle of beings bound 
together by comradeship and friendship, and in that circle 
would be Marynia. Now she was sitting there before him, 
near his eye, and near the friendship which both felt for 
Pani Emilia and Litka. Meanwhile all four were talking 
joyously. 

“What has happened, Emilka,” asked Marynia, “that 
thou hast come so soon?” 

“Titka begged so every day to come home.” 

“Dost not like to live abroad ?” asked Pan Stanislav. 

eNoy 

“ Homesick for Warsaw ? ” 

SVesr. 

“And for me? Now tell quickly, or it will be bad.” 

Litka looked at her mother, at Marynia, and then at Pan 
Stanislav; and at last she said, — 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 113 


“ And for Pan Stas too.” 

“Take this for that!’ said Pan Stanislav, and he seized 
her little hand to kiss it; but she defended herself as she 
could. At last she hid her hand. He, turning to Marynia, 
and showing his sound white teeth, said, — 

“As you see, we are always quarrelling; but we love 
each other.” 

“That is the way generally,” answered Marynia. 

And he, looking her straight and honestly in the eyes, 
said, — 

‘¢Oh that it were the way generally!” 

Marynia blushed slightly and grew. more serious, but 
said nothing, and began to converse with Pani Emilia. 

Pan Stanislav turned to Litka. 

“But where is Professor Vaskovski? Has he gone to 
Italy ?” 

“No. He stopped at Chenstohova, and will come the 
day after to-morrow.” 

“Ts he well? ” 

“He is.” 

Here the little girl looked at her friend, and said, — 

“But Pan Stas has grown thin; has n’t he, mamma ? ” 

“Indeed he has,” answered Pani Emilia. 

Pan Stanislav was changed somewhat, for he had been 
sleeping badly, and the cause of that sleeplessness was 
sitting before him in the earriage. But he laid the blame 
on cares and labor in his business. Meanwhile they 
arrived at Pani Emilia’s. 

When the lady went to greet her servants, Litka ran 
after her. Pan Stanislav and Marynia remained alone in 
the dining-room. 

“You have no nearer acquaintance here, I suppose, than 
Pani Emilia ?” said Pan Stanislav. 

“None nearer; none so beloved.” 

“Tn life kindness is needed, and she is very kind and 
well-wishing. I, for example, who have no family, can 
look on this as the house of a relative. Warsaw seems dif- 
ferent to me when they are here.” Then he added, with a 
voice less firm, ‘This time I comfort myself also with their 
arrival, because there will be at last something mutual and 
harmonious between us.” 

Here he looked at her, with a prayer in his eyes, as if he 
wished to say, “Give me a hand in conciliation; be kind to 
me, too, since a pleasant day has come to us.” 

8 


114 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


But she, just because she could not be for him altogether 
indifferent, went always farther in the direction of dislike. 
The more he showed cordial kindness, the more sympathetic 
he was, the more his action seemed to her unheard of, and 
the more offended she felt at heart. 

Having a delicate nature, and being, besides, rather timid, 
and feeling really that a reply, if too illnatured, might 
spoil the day’s harmony, she preferred to be silent; but he 
did not need an answer in words, for he read in her eyes as 
follows: The less you try to improve our relations, the bet- 
ter they will be; and they will be best if most distant. His 
joy was quenched in one moment; anger took its place, 
and regret, still stronger than anger, — for it rose from that 
charm which nothing could conquer, and to which Pan 
Stanislav yielded himself with the conviction, too, that the 
gulf between him and Marynia was in reality growing 
deeper each day. And now, looking on her sweet and kind 
face, he felt that she was as dear as she was lost irrecover- 
ably. 

The arrival of Litka put an end to that interval, grievous 
to him beyond description. The little girl ran in with great 
delight, Her hair in disorder, a smile on her lips; but see- 
ing them, she stopped suddenly, and looked now at one, 
now at the other, with her dark eyes. At last she sat 
down quietly at a table with tea. Her joyousness had van- 
ished too, though Pan Stanislav, confining the pain in his 
heart, strove to talk and be gladsome. 

But he turned scarcely any attention to Marynia; he 
occupied himself only with Pani Emilia and Litka; and, 
wonderful thing! Marynia felt that as an additional bitter- 
ness. To the series of offences still another was added. 

On the following day Pani Emilia and Litka were invited 
to tea in the evening at the Plavitskis’. Plavitski invited 
Pan Stanislav too, but he did not go. And such is human 
nature that this again touched Marynia. Dislike, as well 
as love, demands an object. Involuntarily Marynia looked 
toward the door all the evening, till the hour struck in 
which it was certain that Pan Stanislav would not come; 
then she began to coquet so with Mashko that she transfixed 
Pani Emilia with amazement. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. py 


CHAPTER XII. 


Masuxko was a very clever man, but full of self-love; he 
had no reason, however, not to take the kindness which 
Marynia showed him in good earnest. ‘The unequal degree 
of it he attributed a little to coquetting, a little to “the 
changing disposition of the young lady; and though the 
latter filled him with a certain alarm, this alarm was not 
great enough to restrain him from taking a decisive step. 

Bigiel divined the true state of affairs when he declared 
that Mashko was in love. Such was the case really. At 
first Panna Plavitski pleased him in a high degree; after- 
ward, when he had thought the pros and cons over, he came 
to the conviction that the pros had prevailed. The young 
advocate valued property, it is true; but, gifted with great 
sobriety of mind, and understanding perfectly the condi- 
tions in which he found himself, he concluded that a very 
wealthy lady he could not find and would not get. Richly 
dowered young ladies were found either among the aris- 
tocracy of descent, — and for him their thresholds were too 
lofty, — or among the world of financiers, who sought con- 
nections with families bearing names more or less ‘famous. 
Mashko knew perfectly that his painted bishops and armored 
men, whom Bukatski ridiculed, would not open bankers’ 
safes to him. He understood that even if they had been 
less fantastic, his profession of advocate would itself be 
a certain diminutio capitis in the eyes of great financial 
whales. On the other hand, he had, in truth, a certain 
racial repugnance to that kind of connection ; while maidens 
of good descent had the uncommon attraction which they 
have for parvenus generally. 

Panna Plavitski had no dower, or at least a very insig- 
nificant one. In taking her, however, he would free himself 
from all obligations to the Plavitskis created by the pur- 
chase of Kremen. Secondly, by connecting himself with a 
good family, he would endeavor to bring in a whole group 
of noble clients, and this might be a very Teal profit; finally, 
through the family relations of Marynia, he might in time 
manage the business of a number, or a number of tens, of 
really wealthy families, —a thing which had long been the 
object of his efforts. 


116 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


The Plavitskis, like all who are a little above middling 
country families, had indeed relatives whom they did not 
greatly recognize; they had also others who did not greatly 
recognize them. ‘This, however, was done not so much from 
reasons of pride as involuntarily, by virtue of a certain social 
selection, through which people seek in society persons who 
are more or less in the same conditions of life as they them- 
selves are. Great family festivals united such separated 
relatives temporarily ; and Mashko not only found it agree- 
able to think that at his wedding there would be perfectly 
well-sounding names, but he foresaw various possible profits. 
The question would be merely one of cleverness to give 
people of this kind an idea that it would be well on their 
part, good and safe, to intrust their business to a man 
noted for energy, and, more than all, one of their own class, 
since he is a relative. That would be something like a 
dower given to a poor cousin. Mashko, taking note of his 
own qualities, hoped to force himself on them, and in time 
tower above them. He knew that this man or that would 
come at first to him for such counsel as he might find in 
conversation with an acquaintance, or a distant relative, 
who happened to understand various questions ; later on, as 
the counsels proved good, he would come oftener, and at 
last put everything into the hands of the counsellor. Help- 
ing others in this fashion, he could himself sail out into 
broad waters, clear Kremen in time, advance to consider- 
able property, throw aside at last legal pursuits, which he 
did not like, and which he considered only as a means of 
reaching his object, and fix himself finally in lofty spheres 
of society as an independent man, and at the same time a 
representative of superior landed property resting ona firm 
basis. He had foreseen all this, calculated and counted, 
before he determined to try for the hand of Panna Plavitski. 

He had not foreseen, however, one thing; to wit, that he 
would fall in love to such a degree as he had. For the 
time this made him angry, for he judged that too strong 
a feeling was something opposed to the balance which a 
man of high society should preserve at all times. That 
balance was one of his illusions. If he had had no need 
of forcing himself into that society, or had been born in 
it, he might have permitted himself to love to his heart’s 
satisfaction. 

In spite of all his keenness, he had not understood that 
one of the chief privileges of this society, which considers 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 117 


itself privileged, is freedom. For this reason he was not 
altogether content when his heart melted too much in 
presence of Marynia. But, on the other hand, the object 
toward which he strove grew identified the more in him 
with that personal happiness which was verging almost 
on intoxication. 

These were new things for him, so new that the bright- 
ness of those unknown horizons blinded him. Mashko had 
arrived at thirty and some years of his life without know- 
ing what rapture is. Now he understood what happiness 
and charms were described by that word, for he was en- 
raptured with Marynia to the depth of his soul. Whenever 
Plavitski received him in his room, and she was in the 
adjoining one, Mashko was with her in thought to sucha 
degree that hardly could he understand what the old man 
was saying. 

When she entered, there rose in his heart feelings utterly 
unknown to him hitherto, — feelings tender and delicate, 
which made him a better man than he was usually. His 
blue eyes changed their ordinary steel and cold gleam to 
an expression of sweetness and delight; the freckles on his 
face, by which he called to mind Professor Vaskovski, 
became still more distinct; his whole form lost its marks 
of formality, and he passed his fingers through his light 
side whiskers, not like an English lord, but an ordinary 
love-stricken mortal. He rose at last so high that he 
wished not only his own good, but her good, evidently not 
understanding it otherwise than through him and in him. 

He was so much in love that, if rejected, he might be- 
come dangerous, especially in view of his want of moral 
development, his great real energy, and lack of scruples. 
Till then he had not loved, and Marynia roused first in 
him all that was capable of loving. She was not a brilliant 
beauty ; but she possessed in the highest degree the charm 
of womanliness, and that womanliness was the reason that 
she attracted energetic natures specially. In her delicate 
form there was something in common with a climbing 
plant; she had a calm face, clear eyes, and a mouth some- 
what thoughtful, — all this, taken together, did not produce 
a mighty impression at the first glance, but after a time 
every man, even the most indifferent, saw that there was 
in her something peculiar, which made him remember that 
he had in his presence a woman who might be loved. 

In so far as Mashko felt himself better than usual, and 


118 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


in reality was so during that epoch of his life, in that far 
had the spiritual level of Marynia sunk since the Pla- 
vitskis came to Warsaw. The sale of Kremen had de- 
prived her of occupation and a moral basis of life. She 
lacked a lofty object. Besides, the course of events had 
accumulated in her bitterness and dissatisfaction, which 
turn always to the injury of the heart. Marynia felt this 
herself distinctly ; and a few days after that evening when 
Pan Stanislav did not come to them, she began first to 
speak of this to Pani Emilia, when at twilight they were 
left by themselves in the drawing-room adjoining Litka’s 
chamber. 

“T see,” said she, “that we are not so outspoken with 
each other as we used to be. I have wished to speak with 
thee openly, and I cannot bring myself to do so, for it has 
seemed to me that I am not worthy of thy friendship.” 

Pani Emilia brought her sweet face up to Marynia’s 
head, and began to kiss her on the temples. 

“ Ai, thou Marynia, Marynia! What art thou saying, 
thou, always calm and thoughtful ? ” 

*¢T say so, for in Kremen I was more worthy than I am 
now. Thou wilt not believe how attached I was to that 
corner. I had all my days occupied, and had some sort of 
wonderful hope that in time something very happy would 
come to me. To-day all that has passed; and I cannot find 
myself in this Warsaw, and, what is worse, I cannot find 
my former honesty. I saw how astonished thou wert be- 
cause I was coquetting with Pan Mashko. Do not tell me 
that thou didst not see it. And dost thou think that I 
myself know why I acted so? It must be because I am 
worse, or from some anger at myself, at Pan Stanislav, at 
the whole world. I do not love Mashko; I will not marry 
him. Therefore I act dishonestly, and with shame I con- 
fess it; but moments come in which I should like to do an 
intended injustice to some one. Thou shouldst break thy 
old friendship with me, for in truth I am other than I 
have been.” 

Here tears began to roll down Marynia’s face, and Pani 
Emilia fell to quieting her and fondling her all the more; 
at last she said, — 

“ Pan Mashko is striving for thee most evidently; and I 
thought, I confess, that thou hadst the intention of aecept- 
ing him. I tell thee now sincerely that that pained me, 
for he is not the man for thee; but, knowing thy love for 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL 119 


Kremen, I admitted thy wish to return to it in this 
way.” 

“At first I had such thoughts, it is true. I wished to 
persuade myself that Pan Mashko pleased me; I did not 
like to repulse him. It was a question with me of some- 
thing else too, but it was a question also of Kremen. But 
Icould not convince myself. I do not want even Kremen 
at such a price; but precisely in this lies the evil. For, in 
such a case, why am I leading Pan Mashko into error, why 
am I deluding him ? Through simple dishonesty.” 

“Tt is not well that thou art deluding him ; but it seems 
to me that I understand whence that flows. From repug- 
nance to some one else, and from the offence given by him 
Is it not true? Console thyself, however, with this, 
that the evil is not beyond remedy; for thou mayst change 
thy action with Pan Mashko to-morrow. And, Marynia, it is 
needful to change it while there is time yet, while nothing 
is promised.” 

“T know, Emilia; I understand that. Butsee, when I am 
with thee I feel as formerly, like an upright and honest 
woman ; I understand, that not only a word binds, but con- 
duct. And he may say that to me.” 

“Then tell him that thou hast tried to convince thyself 
that thou wert in love with him, but could not. In every 
ease, that is the only way.” 

Silence followed ; but both Marynia and Pani Emilia felt 
that they had not begun yet to talk of that which, if it did 
not concern both, concerned Pani Emilia most seriously. 
So, taking Marynia’s hands, she said, — 

“Now confess, Marynia, thou art coquetting with Mashko 
because thou art offended by Pan Stanislav ? ” 

“That is true,” answered Marynia, in a low voice. 

“ But does not this mean that the impression of his visit 
to Kremen, and of thy first conversations with him, are not 
effaced yet ?” 

“Better if it were.” 

Pani Emilia began to stroke her dark hair. “Thou wilt 
not believe how good, clever, and noble a man he is. Forus 
he has some friendship. He has liked Litka always; this 
makes me grateful from my whole soul to him. But thou 
knowest what an unardent and lukewarm feeling friendship 
is usually. He in this regard even is exceptional. When 
Litka was sick in Reichenhall, wilt thou believe it, he 
brought a celebrated doctor from Monachium; but, not 


120 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


wishing to alarm us, he said that the doctor had come to 
another patient, and that we should take advantage of his 
presence. Think what care and kindness! He is extremely 
reliable, a man to be trusted; and he is energetic and just. 
There are intelligent men, but without energy ; others have 
energy, but lack delicacy of heart. He unites one to the 
other. I forgot to tell thee that when Litka’s property was 
in danger, and when my husband’s brother set about saving 
it, he found the greatest aid in Pan Stanislav. If Litka 
were grown up, I would give her to no one in the world with 
such confidence as to him. I could not even recount to you 
how much kindness we have experienced from him.” 

“Tf as much as I have of evil, then very much.” 

“Marynia, he did not intend that. If thou conldst but 
know how he suffers for his rashness, and how sincerely he 
acknowledges his fault touching thee.” 

“ He told me that himself,” answered Marynia. “I, my 
Emilka, have pondered much over this, — to tell the truth, I 
have not thought of another thing; and I cannot find that 
he is to blame. In Kremen he was so pleasant that it 
seemed to me — to thee alone will I say this; for to thee 
I have written it already —that on the Sunday evening 
which he passed in our house I went to sleep with my head 
and heart so filled with him that Iam ashamed to speak of it 
now. And I felt that one day longer, one friendly word 
more on his part, and I should love him for my lifetime. 
It seemed to me that he also— The next day he went away 
in anger. The fault was my father’s; it was mine also. I 
was able to understand that ; and dost remember the letter 
I wrote thee at Reichenhall ? Precisely the same trust 
which thou hast in him, I too had. He went away; I my- 
self do not know why I thought, that he would return, or 
would write to me. He did not return; he did not write. 
Something told me that he would not take away Kremen ; 
he took it. And afterward —I know that Pan Mashko 
talked with him openly, and he urged Pan Mashko, and 
assured him that he was thinking of nothing himself. Oh, 
my Emilia! If it please thee, he is not to blame; but how 
much harm has he done to me! Through him I have lost 
not only a beloved corner in which I was working; but 
more, I have lost faith in life, in people, in this, — that better 
and nobler things in this world conquer the low and the 
evil. I have become worse. I tell thee sincerely that I 
cannot find mvself. He had the right to act as he has acted, 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 112i 


I admit that; I say so, and do not say that he is guilty. 
But he has broken some vital spring in me. There is no 
cure for that; it cannot be mended. How can it ? What is 
it to me that a change rose in him afterward ; that he regrets 
what he did; that he would be ready even to marry me ? 
What is that to me, if I, who almost loved him, not only do 
not love him now, but must guard against repugnance ? 
That is worse than if I did not care for him. I know what 
thy wish is; but life must be built on love, not on re- 
pugnance. How can I give my hand to him with that 
feeling of offence in my soul and with that regret, that 
through him, guilty or not guilty, so much has been lost 
to me? Thou thinkest that I do not see his charm; but 
what can I do, when the more I see him, the more I am 
repulsed, and if I had to choose I should choose Pan 
Mashko, though he is less worthy ? To everything good 
which thou canst say of him I agree; but to everything I 
answer: I do not love him; I never will love him.” 

Pani Emilia’s eyes were filled with tears. ‘‘Poor Pan 
Stas,” said she, as if to herself. And after a moment of 
silence she asked, ‘‘ And art thou not sorry for him ?” 

‘*T am sorry for him when I think of him as he was in 
Kremen; I am sorry for him when I do not see him. But 
from the moment that I see him, I feel nothing but — 
repulsion.” 

“Yes ; because thou knowest not how unhappy he was in 
Reichenhall, and now he is still more unhappy. He has no 
one in the world.” 

“ He has thy friendship, and he loves Litka.” 

“My Marynia, that is something different. I am thank- 
ful to him from my whole soul for his attachment to Litka; 
but that is something different altogether, and thou knowest 
thyself that he loves thee a hundred times more than 
Litka.” 

In the chamber it had grown dark already; but soon the 
servant brought in a lamp, and, placing it on the table, 
went out. By the lamplight Pani Emilia beheld a whitish 
form crouched on the sofa near the door which led to Litka’s 
room. 

“Who is there? Is that Litka?” 

“T, mamma.” 

In her voice there was something; Pani Emilia rose and 
went hurriedly toward her. 

‘* When didst thou come out? What is the matter?” 


122 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“T feel so ill in some way.” 

Pani Emilia sat down on the sofa, and, drawing the little 
girl up to her, saw tears in her eyes. 

“ Art thou erying, Litus? What is the matter?” 

“Oh, so sad, so sad!” 

And, inclining her head to her mother’s shoulder, she 
began to cry. She was in reality sad, for she had learned 
that “Pan Stas” was more unhappy than in Reichenhall, 
and that he loves Marynia a hundred times more than her. 
That evening, when going to sleep and in her nightdress, 
she nestled up to her mother’s ear and whispered, — 

“Mamma, mamma, I have one very great sin on my 
conscience.” 

“My poor little girl, what is troubling thee ? ” 

She whispered in a still lower voice, “I do not like 
Panna Marynia.” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 123 


CHAPTER XIII. 


Pant Emmis, with Litka and Marynia, and with them 
Plavitski, were going to the Bigiels to dine at their country 
house, which stood in a forest at the distance of one hour 
and a half from the city. It was a fine day in September; 
there were myriads of glittering spider-webs in the air and 
on the stubbles. Leaves still fresh and green adhered to 
the trees yet; here and there, through leaty openings, were 
visible as it were fountains and bouquets of red and yellow. 
That pale and faded autumn brought to Marynia’s mind her 
occupations in the country, the odor of grain in the barns, 
the fields with stacks, and the clear extent of the meadows, 
bounded way off somewhere on the horizon by stretches of 
alder. She felt a yearning for that life and that compos- 
ure, in comparison with which the city, notwithstanding 
the labor which seethed in its every-day existence, but 
which Marynia was unable to appreciate, seemed to her 
idle and empty. She felt now that that life in which she 
had found her own worth and merit was lost beyond return 
to her, and on the other hand there was not outlined before 
her anything that could take its place and redeem it. She 
might, it is true, return by becoming Pani Mashko; but her 
heart was filled with bitterness at that thought alone, and 
Mashko, with his Warsaw self-confidence, with his freckles 
and his side whiskers, with his aping an English lord, 
seemed to her simply repulsive. Never had she felt withal 
a deeper feeling against Pan Stanislav, who had taken 
Kremen from her, and put Mashko in place of it. She was 
disgusted with Mashko at that moment, and it seemed to her 
that she hated Pan Stanislav. She saw before her life with 
her father on the pavement of Warsaw, without an object, 
without occupation, without an ideal, with regret for the 
past and in view of the past, and with emptiness in the 
future. For this reason that calm autumn day, instead of 
quieting her, filled her with bitterness and sorrow. On 
the whole, the journey was not joyous. Litka sat in gloom 
because “Pan Stas” was not with them. Pani Emilia gave 
all attention to her, fearing lest that gloomy feeling might 
be connected with her health. Plavitski alone was in 


124 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


genuine good-humor, especially at the beginning of the 
journey. In his buttoned frock-coat, with a red flower in 
the buttonhole, with a light-colored overcoat, and with 
mustaches as pointed as needles, he thought himself beauti- 
ful, and was sprightly, since rheumatism, which he felt at 
times, was not troubling him, by reason of the good weather ; 
secondly, before him sat one of the most presentable women 
in Warsaw, who, as he supposed, would not remain indiffer- 
ent to so many charms, or in any case would esteem them 
in so far as she would be able to note them. Let her say 
at least to herself, ‘Oh, what a charming man that must 
have been!” In the worst event, Plavitski would have been 
satisfied with such a retrospective recognition. In this 
hope he was really enchanting; for at one time he was lofty 
and fatherly, at another sportive, setting out with the 
theory that young men of the present do not know how to 
act politely with ladies. In politeness, as he told Pani 
Emilia, he went as far as mythology, which was true under 
a certain aspect, for he looked at her as would a satyr. 

But all this was received with a faint smile and with too 
little attention, hence he grew offended at last and began 
to speak of something else ; namely, that, thanks to the rela- 
tions of his daughter, he would become acquainted with the 
bourgeoisie, of which he was glad, however, for hitherto he 
had seen that society only on the stage, but it is necessary 
in life to meet the most varied kinds of people, for it is 
possible to Jearn something from each of them. He added 
finally, that it is the duty of certain circles not to estrange 
the commonalty, but on the contrary to gather them in, and 
thus plant in them sound principles; therefore he who had 
striven always to fulfil his social duties did not halt 
before that mission. Here the noble expression of his face 
took on a certain style of pensiveness, and in that state of 
feeling they drove up to the villa of the Bigiels. 

It stood ina forest of unmixed pines, in the neighborhood 
of other villas, among old trees, which in places were felled, 
in places standing in groups of a few, or of a few tens. 
They seemed to wonder a little what such a new house was 
doing among them in the old forest stillness; but they 
hospitably shielded it from the wind; on fine days they sur- 
rounded it with balsamic air, permeated with the odor of 
gum and resin. 

The Bigiels, with a row of children, came out to meet the 
guests. Pani Bigiel, who liked Marynia much, greeted her 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 125 


very cordially, desiring, besides, to prepossess her thereby 
for Pan Stanislav; she considered that the better Marynia 
understood how pleasant it might be for her among them, 
the less difficulty would she make. 

Plavitski, who, during his previous stay with Marynia in 
Warsaw, had made the acquaintance of the Bigiels at Pani 
Emilia’s, but had limited himself to leaving cards with them 
simply, showed himself now such a gracious prince as was 
possible only to the most refined man, who at the same time 

was fulfilling his mission of gathering i in the “ bourgeoisie.” 

“ At the present day it is agreeable for any man to find 
himself under the roof of a person lke you; but all the 
more for me, since my cousin, Polanyetski, has entered the 
career of commerce and is your partner.” 

“ Polanyetski is a strong man,” answered Bigiel, with 
directness, pressing the gloved hand of Plavitski. 

The ladies retired for a moment to remove their hats; 
then, the air being quite warm, they returned to the 
veranda. 

“Ts Pan Stanislav not here yet?” inquired Pani Emilia. 

“He has been here since morning,” answered Bigiel; 
“but now he is visiting Pani Kraslavski. The place is 
near by,” added he, turning to Marynia; “not even half a 
verst distant. There are summer residences everywhere 
about, and those ladies are our nearest neighbors.” 

“T remember Panna Terka Kraslavski since the time of 
the carnival,” said Marynia. “She was always very 
pale.” 

“Oh, she is very pale yet. The past winter she spent in 
Pat.” 

Meanwhile the little Bigiels, who loved Litka wonderfully, 
drew her out to play in front of the house. The little girls 
showed her their gardens, made in the sand among the 
‘pines, in which gardens, to tell the truth, nothing would 
grow. ‘These surveys were interrupted every little while 
by the girls, who stood on their toes and kissed Litka’s 
cheeks; she, bending her beautiful flaxen head, returned 
these kisses with tenderness. 

But the boys wanted their share as well. First, they 
stripped to the stalk the georgina at the house, gathering 
for Litka the most beautiful blossoms ; then they disputed 
about this, — what play does Litka like ; ; and they went to 
Pani Emilia for information. Edzio, who had the habit of 
speaking in a very loud voice, and closing his eyes at the 
same time, called out, — 


126 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“Please, Pani, I say that she likes ball better, only I 
don’t know that you will let her play ball.” 

* Yes ; if she will not run, for that hurts her.” 

“Oh, she will not, Pani; we will throw the ball so that 
it will go straight to her every time, then she will not run 
any. And if Yozio does n’t know how to throw that way, 
let her throw the ball.” 

“T want to play with her,” said Yozio, pitifully. And 
at the very thought that he might be deprived of that 
pleasure, his mouth took the form of a horseshoe and began 
to quiver; but Litka anticipated his outburst of sorrow, 
saying, — 

“J will throw to thee, Yozio; I’ll throw to thee very 
often.” 

Yozio’s eyes, already moist, began to smile at once. 

“They will not hurt her,” said Bigiel to Pani Emilia. 
“This is remarkable: the boys are what is called regular 
tearers; but with her they are wonderfully careful. It is 
Pan Stanislav who has trained them in this devotion to 
her.” 

“Such lovely children! there are few in the world like 
them,” remarked Pani Emilia. 

In a moment the children gathered in a group to arrange 
the play. In the middle of the group stood Litka, the 
oldest and the tallest; and though the little Bigiels were 
well-behaved children, she, with her sweet, poetic face 
and features, almost over-refined, seemed, among those 
ruddy, round faces, like a being from another planet. Pani 
Bigiel turned attention to that first of all. 

“Js she not a real queen?” asked she. “TI say truly 
that never can I look at her sufficiently.” 

“She is so noble in appearance,” added Bigiel. 

And Pani Emilia looked at her only one with a glance 
in which there was a sea of love. The children ran apart 
now, and stood in a great circle forming, on the gray back- 
ground of fallen pine needles, parti-colored spots, which 
seemed as small under the immense pines as colored 
mushrooms. 

Marynia went from the veranda and stood near Litka, to 
assist her in catching the ball, for which it was necessary 
to run, and in that way save her from exertion. 

On the broad forest road leading to the villa, Pan Stanis- 
lav appeared at that moment. The children did not notice 
him at once ; but he took in with a glance the veranda, as 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 12g 


well as the space in front; and, seeing the bright robe of 
Marynia under a pine, he hastened his steps. Litka, know- 
ing her mamma’s alarm at every more animated movement 
which she made, and, not wishing to disquiet her for any- 
thing, stood almost without stirring from her place, and 
caught on her club only those balls which came directly 
toward her. Marynia ran after all that went farther. By 
reason of that running, her hair was loosened so that she 
had to arrange it; and, at the moment when Pan Stanislav 
was coming in at the gate, she stood bent backward some- 
what and with arms raised to her head. 

He did not take his eyes from her, and saw no one save 
her. She seemed to him on that broad space younger and 
sinaller than usual, and therewith so maidenlike, so unap- 
proachably attractive, so created for this, that a man should 
put his arms around her and press her to his bosom; she 
was so feminine, so much the dearest creature on earth, — 
that never till that moment had he felt with such force 
how he loved her. 

At sight of him, the children threw down their balls and 
clubs, and ran with a ery to meet him. The amusement 
was stopped. Litka at the first instant sprang also toward 
Pan Stas, but restrained herself on a sudden, and looked 
with her great eyes, now toward him, now toward Marynia. 

“But thou art not rushing to meet Pan Polanyetski,” 
said Marynia. 

73 No.”’ 

“ Why, Litus?” 

“ Because —” 

And her cheeks flushed somewhat, though the child did 
not know and did not dare to express her thought, which 
might be expressed in the words: “ Because he does not love 
ine any more; he loves only thee, and looks only at thee.” 

But he approached, freeing himself from the children, 
and repeating, — 

“ Do not hang on, little rogues, or I’11 throw you.” 

And he extended his hand to Marynia, looking at her in 
the eyes, with an entreaty for a pleasant smile and a greet- 
ing even a whit less indifferent than usual; then he turned 
to Litka, — 

“ But is the dearest kitten well?” 

At sight of him, and under the influence of his voice, she, 
forgetting all the suffering of her little heart, gave him 
both hands, saying, — 


128 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“Oh, yes, well; but yesterday Pan Stas did not come to 
us, and it was sad. To-day 1’ll take Pan Stas to mamma to 
give account.” 

After a while all were on the veranda. 

“How are Pani Kraslavski and her daughter ?” asked 
Pani Emilia. 

“They are well, and are coming here after dinner,” 
answered Pan Stanislav. 

Just before dinner Professor Vaskovski came, bringing 
Bukatski, who had returned to Warsaw the evening before. 
His intimacy with the Bigiels permitted him to come with- 
out being invited; and the presence of Pani Emilia was too 
great a temptation to be resisted. He met her, however, 
without a trace of sentiment, in his usual jesting fashion ; 
she was glad to see him, for he amused her with his 
strange and original way of uttering ideas. 

“ Were you not going to Monachium and Italy ?” asked 
she, when they had sat down to dinner. 

“Yes; but I forgot a card-knife in Warsaw, and came 
back to get it.” 

“Oh, that was a weighty reason.” 

“It always makes me impatient that people do every- 
thing from weighty reasons. What privilege have weighty 
reasons, that every man must accommodate himself to 
them? Besides, I gave, without wishing it, the last ser- 
vices to a friend, for yesterday I was at the funeral of 
Lisovich.” 

“ What! that thin little sportsman ?” inquired Bigiel. 

“The same. And imagine that to this moment I ean- 
not escape astonishment that a man who played the jester 
all his hfe could bring himself to such a serious thing as 
death. Simply I cannot recognize my Lisovich. At every 
step a man meets disappointment.” 

“But,” said Pan Stanislav, “ Pani Kraslavski told me 
that Ploshovski, he with whom all the women of Warsaw 
were in love, shot himself in Rome.” 

“He was a relative of mine,” said Plavitski. 

This news affected Pani Emilia mainly. She _ scarcely 
knew Ploshovski himself, but she had often seen his 
aunt, for whom her husband’s elder brother was agent. 
She knew also how blindly this aunt loved her sister’s 
son. 

“My God, what a misfortune!” said she. “But is it 
true? A young man so capable, so wealthy — poor Panna 
Ploshovski!” 


See 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 129 


“ And such a great estate will be without an heir,” added 
Bigiel. “I know their property, for it is near Warsaw. 
Old Panna Ploshovski had two relatives: Pani Krovitski, 
though she was distant, and Leo Ploshovski, who was 
nearer. Neither are livine now.” 

These words moved VPlavitski again. He was indeed 
some sort of a distant relative of Panna Ploshovski, and 
even had seen her two or three times in his life; but there 
remained to him merely the remembrance of fear, for she 
had told him the bitter truth each time without circumlo- 
cution, or rather, speaking simply, had scolded him as 
much as he could hold. For this reason, in the further 
course of his life he avoided her most carefully, and all 
communication between them was stopped, though on occa- 
sions he liked to say a word in society of his relationship 
with a family so well known and important. He belonged 
to that category of people, numerous in our country, who 
are convinced that the Lord God created for their special 
use an easy road to fortune through inheritance, and who 
consider every hope of that kind as certain. He cast a 
solemn glance, therefore, on the assembly, and said, — 

“Perhaps, too, Providence decided that those properties 
should pass to other hands, which are able to make better 
use of them.” 

“T met Ploshovski abroad once,” said Pan Stanislav ; 
“and on me he made the impression of a man altogether 
uncommon. I remember him perfectly.” 

“He was so brilliant and sympathetic,” added Pani 
Bigiel. 

“ May God show him mercy!” said Professor Vaskovski. 
“T too knew him; he was a genuine Aryan.” 

“ Azoryan,” said Plavitski. 

“ Aryan,” repeated the professor. 

“ Azoryan,” corrected Plavitski, with emphasis and dig- 
nity. 

And the two old men looked at each other with astonish- 
ment, neither knowing what the other wanted, and this to 
the great delight of Bukatski, who, raising his monocle, 
said, — 

“ How is that, Aryan or Azoryan?” 

Pan Stanislav put an end to the misunderstanding by 
explaining that Azorya was the name of the family escut- 
cheon of the Ploshovskis, that therefore it was possible to 
be at once an Aryan and an Azoryan; to which Plavitski 


130 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


agreed unwillingly, making the parenthetical remark that 
whoso bears a decent name, need not be ashamed of it, nor 
modify it. 

Bukatski, turning to Pani Emilia, began to converse in 
his usual frigid tone, — 

“Qne kind of suicide alone do I consider justifiable, 
suicide for love; therefore I am persuading myself for a 
number of years to it, but always in vain.” 

“They say that suicide is cowardice,” put in Marynia. 

“his is a reason too why I do not take my life: Iam 
excessively brave.” 

“Let us not speak of death, but of life,” said Bigiel, 
“and of that which is best in it, health. To the health of 
Pani Emilia!” 

“And Litka,” added Pan Stanislav. 

Then he turned to Marynia and said, “To the health of 
our mutual friends!” 

“Most willingly,” answered Marynia. 

Then he lowered his voice and continued, “ For see, I 
consider them not only as friends of mine, but also — how 
is it to be expressed ?—as advocates. Litka is a child yet, 
but Pani Emilia knows to whom friendship may be offered. 
Therefore if a certain person had a prejudice against me, 
even justly; if I had acted with that person not precisely 
as I should, or simply ill, and if that person knew me to be 
suffering from my act, — that person ought to think that I 
am not the worst of men, since Pani Emilia has sincere 
good-will for me.” 

Marynia was confused at once; she was sorry for him. 
He finished in a still lower voice, — 

“But in truth I am suffering. This is a great question 
for me.” 

Before she had answered, Plavitski raised a health to Pani 
Bigiel, and made a whole speech, the substance of which 
was that the Queen of Creation is no other than woman; 
therefore all heads should incline before woman, as the 
queen, and, for this reason, he had bowed down all his life 
before woman in general, and at present he bowed before 
Pani Bigiel in particular. 

Pan Stanislav from his soul wished him to choke, for he 
felt that he might have received some kind word from 
Marynia, and he felt that the moment had passed. In fact, 
Marynia went to embrace Pani Bigiel; on her return she 
did not resume the interrupted conversation, and he dared 
not ask her directly for an answer. 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. Bel 


Immediately after dinner came Pani and Panna Kraslav- 
ski: the mother, a woman about fifty years old, animated, 
self-confident, talkative; the daughter, the complete oppo- 
site of her mother, formal, dry, cold, pronouncing “tek,” 
instead of “tak,” but for the rest with a full, though pale 
face, reminding one somewhat of the faces of Holbein’s 
Madonnas. 

Pan Stanislav began out of malice to entertain her ; but, 
looking from time to time at the fresh face and blue eyes 
of Marynia, he said to himself, “If thou hadst given even 
one kind word! thou, — thou, the pitiless.” And he grew 
more and more angry, so that when Panna Kraslavski said 
“memme’”’ instead of “ mamma,” he inquired harshly, — 

“ Who is that?” 

“ Memme,” however, displayed her whole supply of facts, 
or rather suppositions, concerning the suicide of Ploshovski. 

“ Tmagine,” said she, with warmth, “it came to my head at 
once that he shot himself because of the death of Pani 
Krovitski. Lord light her soul! she was a coquette, and 
I never liked her. She coquetted with him so that I was 
afraid to take Terka to any place where they were together, 
because her conduct was simply a bad example for such a 
young girl. What is true, is true! Lord light her soul! 
Terka, too, had no sympathy for her.” 

‘Ah, Pani,” said Pani Emilia, ‘‘I have always heard 
that she was an angel.” 

And Bukatski, who had never seen Pani Krovitski in his 
life, turned to Pani Kraslavskiand said phlegmatically, — 

“Madame, je vous donne ma parole dhonneur that she 
was an archangel.” f 

Pani Kraslavski was silent a moment, not knowing what 
to answer; then, flushing up, she would have answered some- 
thing sharp, were it not that Bukatski, as a man of wealth, 
might in a given event be a good match for Terka. Pan 
Stanislav enjoyed the same consideration in her eyes; and 
for these two exclusively she kept up summer relations 
with the Bigiels, whom she did not recognize when they met 
her by chance on the street. 

“ With gentlemen,” said she, “every presentable woman 
is an angel or an archangel. I do not like this, even when 
they say it to me about Terka. Pani Krovitski might be a 
good person, but she had no tact; that is the whole 
question.” 

In this way conversation about Ploshovski dropped, the 


132 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


more since the attention of Pani Kraslavski was turned 
exclusively to Pan Stanislav, who was entertaining Panna 
Terka. He was entertaining her a little out of anger at 
himself, a little out of anger at Marynia, and he tried to 
convince himself that it was pleasant for him near her; 
he tried even to find in her a charm, and discovered that 
her neck was too slender and her eyes as it were quenched 
eyes, which grew lively and turned inquiringly at him 
when there was no place for a question. He observed, too, 
that she might be a quiet despot, for when the mother 
began to talk too loudly, Panna Terka put her glasses to 
her eyes and looked at her attentively ; and under the in- 
fluence of that look the mother lowered her voice, or grew 
silent altogether. In general, Panna Terka annoyed him 
immensely ; and if he occupied himself more with her than 
he ever had before, he did so from sheer desperation, to 
rouse at least a shade of jealousy in Marynia. Even 
people of sound sense grasp at such vain methods when 
the misery of their feelings presses them too keenly. 
These methods produce usually results opposite to those 
‘ntended, for they increase the difficulty of subsequent 
approach and explanations ; besides, they merely strengthen 
the feeling cherished in the heart of the person using 
them. Toward the end Pan Stanislav longed so much for 
Marynia that he would have agreed to listen even to an 
unpleasant word from her, if he could only approach her 
and speak; and still it seemed to him more difficult now 
than an hour before. He drew a deep breath when the 
visit was over, and the guests were preparing to go. Be- 
fore that, however, Litka approached her mother, and, 
putting her arms around her neck, whispered. Pani Emilia 
nodded, and then approached Pan Stanislav, — 

“Pan Stanislav,” said she, “if you do not think of 
spending the night here, ride with us. Marynia and I will 
take Litka between us, and there will be room enough.” 

“Very well. I cannot pass the night here; and I am very 
thankful,” answered he; and, divining easily who the author 
of this plan was, he turned to Litka and said, — 

“Thou, my best little kitten, thou.” 

She, holding to her mother’s dress, raised to him her 
eyes, half sad, half delighted, asking quietly, — 

“Ts that good, Pan Stas?” 

A few minutes later they started. After a fine day 
there came a night still finer, a little cool, but all bright 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 133 


and silvery from the moon. Pan Stanislav, for whom the 
day had passed grievously and in vain, breathed now with 
full breast,and felt almost happy, having before him two 
beings whom he loved very deeply, and one whom he 
loved beyond everything on earth. By the light of the 
moon he saw her face, and it seemed to him mild and 
peaceful. He thought that Marynia’s feelings must be 
like her face in that moment; that perhaps her dislike of 
him was softening amid that general quiet. 

Litka dropped into the depth of the seat, and appeared to 
be sleeping. Pan Stanislav threw a shawl, taken from 
Pani Emilia, over her feet, and they rode on a while in 
silence. 

Pani Emilia began to speak of Ploshovski, the news of 
whose death had impressed her deeply. 

“There is hidden in all that some unusually sad drama,” 
said Pan Stanislav ; “and Pani Kraslavski may be right in 
some small degree when she insists that these two deaths 
are connected.” 

“There is in suicide,” said Marynia, “this ghastly thing, 
that one feels bound to condemn it; and while condemning 
there is an impression that there should be no sympathy 
for the misfortune.” 

“ Sympathy,” answered Pan Stanislav, “should be had 
for those who have feeling yet, — hence for the living.” 

The conversation ceased, and they went on again for 
some time in silence. After a while Pan Stanislav pointed 
to the lights in the windows of a house standing in the 
depth of a forest park, and said, — 

“That is Pani Kraslavski’s villa.” 

“T cannot forgive her for what she said of that unfortu- 
nate Pani Krovitski,” said Pani Emila. 

“That is simply a cruel woman, ” added Pan Stanislav ; 
‘“‘but do you know why? It is because of her daughter. 
She looks on the whole world as a background which she 
would like to make as black as possible, so that Panna 
Terka might be reflected on it the more brightly. Perhaps 
the mother had designs sometime on Ploshovski;_per- 
haps she considered Pani Krovitski a hindrance, — hence 
her hatred.” 

“That is a nice young lady,” said Marynia. 

“There are persons for whom behind the world of social 
forms begins another and far wider world; for her nothing 
begins there, or rather everything ends. She is simply an 


134 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


automaton, in whom the heart beats only when her mother 
winds it with a key. For that matter, there are in society 
very many such young ladies; and even those who give 
themselves out for something different are in reality just 
like her. It is the eternal history of Galatea. Would you 
believe, ladies, that a couple of years since an acquaintance 
of mine, a young doctor, fell in love to distraction with 
that puppet, that quenched candle. Twice he proposed, and 
twice he was rejected; for those ladies looked higher. He 
joined the Holland service afterwards, and died there some- 
where, with the fever doubtless; for at first he wrote to me 
inquiring about his automaton, and later on those letters 
ceased to come.” 

“ Does she know of this?” 

“She does; for as often as 1 see her, I speak of him. 
And what is characteristic is this, — that the memory 
of him does not ruffle her composure for an instant. She 
speaks of him as of any one else. If he expected from her 
even a posthumous sorrow, he was deceived in that also. I 
must show you,. ladies, sometime, one of his letters. 
I strove to explain to him her feeling; he answered me, 
‘I estimate her coolly, but I cannot tear my soul from her,’ 
He was a sceptic, a positive man, a child of the age; but 
it seems that feeling makes sport of all philosophies and 
tendencies. Everything passes; but feeling was, is, and 
will be. Besides, he said to me once, ‘I would rather be 
unhappy with her than happy with another.’ What is to be 
said in this case? The man looked at things soundly, but 
could not tear his soul away,—and that was the end 
of it.” 

This conversation ended also. They came out now on 
to a road planted with chestnut-trees, the trunks of which 
seemed rosy in the light of the carriage lamps. 

“But if any one has misfortune, he must endure it,” said 
Pan Stanislav, following evidently the course of his own 
thoughts. 

Meanwhile Pani Emilia bent over Litka, — 

“ Art sleeping, child ? ” inquired she. 

“No, mamma,” answered Litka. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 135 


CHAPTER XIV. 


“T HAVE never run after wealth,” said Plavitski; “but 
if Providence in its inscrutable decrees has directed that 
even a part of that great fortune should come to our hands, 
IT shall not cross its path. Of this not much will come to 
me. Soon I shall need four planks and the silent tear of 
my child, for whom I have lived; but here it is a question 
of Marynia.” 

“JT would turn your attention to this,” said Mashko, 
coldly, — “that, first of all, those expectations are very 
uncertain.” 

“But is it right not to take them into consideration ?” 

“Secondly, that Panna Ploshovski is living yet.” 

“ But sawdust is dropping out of the old woman. She is 
as shrivelled as a mushroom !” 

“Thirdly, she may leave her property for public pur- 
poses.” 

“ But is it not possible to dispute such a will ?” 

“Fourthly, your relationship is immensely distant. In 
the same way all people in Poland are related to one another.” 

“She has no nearer relatives.” 

“But Polanyetski is your relative.” 

“No. God knows he is not! He is a relative of my first 
wife, not mine.” 

“ And Bukatski ? ” 

“Give me peace! Bukatski is a cousin of my brother-in- 
law’s wife.” 

“Have you no other relatives ?” 

“The Gantovskis claim us, as you know. People say 
that which flatters them. But there is no need of reckoning 
-with the Gantovskis.” 

Mashko presented difficulties purposely, so as to show 
afterward a small margin of hope, therefore he said, — 

“With us people are very greedy for inheritances; and 
let any inheritance be in sight, they fly together from all 
sides, as sparrows fly to wheat. Everything in such cases 
depends on this: who claims first, what he claims, and 
finally through whom he claims. Remember that an ener- 
getic man, acquainted with affairs, may make something 


136 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


out of nothing; while, on the other hand, a man without 
energy or acquaintance with business, even if he has a good 
basis of action, may effect nothing.” 

“T know this from experience. All my life I have had 
business up to this.” Here Plavitski drew his hand across 
his throat. 

“Besides, you may become the plaything of advocates,” 
added Mashko, “and be exploited without limit.” 

“Tn such a case I could count on your personal friend- 
ship for us.” 

“And you would not be deceived,” answered Mashko, 
with importance. “Both for you and Panna MaryniaI have 
friendship as profound as if you belonged to my family.” 

“T thank you in the name of the orphan,” answered Pla- 
vitski ; and emotion did not let him speak further. 

Mashko put on dignity, and said, “ But if you wish me to 
defend your rights, both in this matter, which, as I said, 
may prove illusive, and in other matters, then give me 
those rights.” Here the young advocate seized Plavitski’s 
hand, — 

“ Respected sir,” continued he, “ you will divine that of 
which I wish to speak; therefore hear me to the end 
patiently.” 

He lowered his voice; and although there was no one in 
the room, he began to speak almost in a whisper. He 
spoke with force, with dignity, and at the same time with 
great self-command, as befitted a man who never forgot 
who he was nor what he offered. Plavitski closed his eyes 
at moments ; at moments he pressed Mashko’s hand; finally, 
at the end of the conference, he said, — 

“Come to the drawing-room ; I will send in Marynia. I 
know not what she will say to you; in every case, let that 
come which God wills. I have at all times known your 
value ; now I esteem you still more —and here!” 

The arms of Plavitski opened wide, and Mashko bent 
toward them, repeating, not without emotion, but always 
with lofty dignity, — 

“T thank, I thank —” 

After a while he found himself in the drawing-room. 

Marynia appeared with a face which had grown very 
pale; but she was calm. Mashko pushed a chair toward 
her, seated himself in another, and began, — 

“T am here by the approval of your father. My words 
can tell you nothing beyond what my silence has told 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 137 


already, and which you have divined. But since the mo- 
ment has come in which I should mention my feelings 
explicitly, I do this then with all confidence in your heart 
and character. Jam aman who loves you, on whom you 
may lean; therefore I put in your hands my life, and I beg 
you from the bottom of my heart to consent to go with 
me.” 

Marynia was silent for a moment, as if seeking words, 
then she said, — 

“T ought to answer you clearly and sincerely. This con- 
fession is for me very difficult; but I do not wish such a 
man as you to deceive himself. I have not loved you; I 
do not love you, and I will not be your wife, even should it 
come to me never to be any one’s.” 

Then a still more prolonged silence followed. The spots 
on Mashko’s face assumed a deeper hue, and his eyes cast 
cold steel gleams. 

“This answer,” said he, “is as decided as it is painful 
to me and unexpected. But will you not give yourself 
a few days to consider, instead of rejecting me decisively 
at this moment ? ” 

“You have said that I divined your feelings; I had time 
then to make my decision, and the answer which I gave 
you, I give after thorough reflection.” 

Mashko’s voice became dry and sharp now, — 

“Do you think that by virtue of your bearing with me, J 
had not the right to make such a proposal ?” 

And he was sure in that moment that Marynia would 
answer that he understood her bearing incorrectly, that 
there was nothing in it authorizing him to entertain any 
hope, — in one word, that she would seek the crooked road 
taken usually by coquettes who are forced to redeem their 
coquetry by lying; but she raised her eyes to him and said, — 

“My conduct with you has not been at times what it 
should have been; I confess my fault, and with my whole 
soul I beg pardon for it.” 

Mashko was silent. A woman who evades rouses con- 
tempt; a woman who recognizes her fault dashes the wea- 
pon from the hand of every opponent in whose nature, or 
even in whose education, there lies the least spark of 
knightly feeling. Besides this, there is one final method of 
moving the heart of a woman in such a case, and that is 
to overlook her fault magnanimously. Mashko, though he 
saw before him a precipice, understood this, and determined 


138 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


to lay everything on this last card. Every nerve in him 
quivered from anger and offended self-love ; but he mastered 
himself, took his hat, and, approaching Maryuia, raised her 
hand to his lips. 

“T knew that you loved Kremen,” said he; “and I 
bought it for one purpose only, to lay it at your feet. I 
see that I went bya mistaken road, and I withdraw, though 
I do so with endless sorrow; I beg you to remember that. 
Fault on your part there has not been, and is not. Your 
peace is dearer to me than my own happiness; I beg you, 
therefore, as an only favor, not to reproach yourself. And 
now farewell.” 

And he went out. 

She sat there motionless a long time, with a pale face 
and a feeling of oppression in her soul. She had not ex- 
pected to find in him so many noble feelings. Besides, the 
following thought came to her head, “That one took Kre- 
men from me to save his own; this one bought it to re- 
turn it to me.” And never before had Pan Stanislav been 
so ruined in her thoughts. At that moment she did not 
remember that Mashko had bought Kremen, not from Pan 
Stanislav, but from her father; second, that he had bought 
it profitably; third, that though he wished to return it, he 
intended to take it again with her hand, thus freeing him- 
self from the payments which weighed on him; and finally, 
to take the matter as it was in reality, neither Pan Stanis- 
lav nor any one else had taken Kremen from her, — Pla- 
vitski had sold it because he was willing and found a 
purchaser. But at that moment she looked on the mat- 
ter in woman fashion, and compared Mashko with Pan 
Stanislav, exalting the former beyond measure, and con- 
demning the latter beyond his deserts. Mashko’s action 
touched her so much thatif she had not felt for him simply 
a repulsion, she would have called him back. For a while 
it seemed to her even that she ought to do so, but strength 
failed her. 

She did not know either that Mashko went down the 
stairs with rage and despair in his sou]; in fact, a preci- 
pice had opened before him. All his calculations had 
deceived him: the woman whom he loved really did not 
want him, and rejected him; and though she had striven 
to spare him in words, he felt humbled as never before. 
Whatever he had undertaken in life hitherto, he had carried 
through always with a feeling of his own power and reason, 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 13 


with an unshaken certainty of success. Marynia’s refusal 
had taken that certainty from him. For the first time he 
doubted himself; for the first time he had a feeling that 
his star was beginning to pale, and that perhaps an epoch 
of defeats was beginning for him on all fields on which he 
had acted hitherto. That epoch had beguneven. Mashko 
had bought Kremen on conditions exceptionally profitable, 
but it was too large an estate for his means. If Marynia 
had not rejected him, he would have been able to manage; 
he would not have needed to think of the hfe annuity for 
Plavitski, or the sum which, according to agreement, came 
to Marynia for Magyerovka. At present he had to pay 
Marynia, Pan Stanislav, and the debts on Kremen, which 
must be paid as soon as possible, for, by reason of usurious 
interest, they were increasing day by day, and threatening 
utter ruin. For all this he had only credit, hitherto un- 
shaken, it is true, but strained like a chord; Mashko felt 
that, if that chord should ever snap, he would be ruined 
beyond remedy. 

Hence at moments, besides sorrow for Marynia, besides 
the pain which a man feels after the loss of happiness, 
anger measureless, almost mad, bore him away, and also 
an unbridled desire for revenge. Therefore, when he was 
entering his residence, he muttered through his set teeth, — 

‘If thou do not become my wife, I’ll not forgive thee 
for what thou hast done to me; if thou become my wife, 
I’1l not forgive thee either.” 

Meanwhile Plavitski entered the room in which Marynia 
was sitting, and said, — 

‘Thou hast refused him, or he would have come to me 
before going.” 

“*T have, papa.” 

‘*Without hope for the future?” 

‘“Without hope. I respect him as no one in the world, 
but I gave him no hope.” 

‘*What did he answer?” 

‘Everything that such a high-minded person could 
answer.” 

‘“‘A new misfortune. Who knows if thou hast not de- 
prived me of a morsel of bread in my oldage ? But I knew 
that no thought of this would come to thee.” 

**T could not act otherwise; I could not.” 

“T have no wish to force thee; and I go to offer my suf- 
ferings there where every tear of an old man is counted.” 


140 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


And he went to Lour’s to look at men playing billiards. 
He would have consented to Mashko; but at the root of 
the matter he did not count hima very brilliant match, and, 
thinking that Marynia might do better, he did not trouble 
himself too much over what had happened. 

Half an hour later Marynia ran in to Pani Emilia’s. 

**One weight at least has fallen from my heart,” began 
she. “I refused Pan Mashko to-day decisively. I am 
sorry for him; he acted with me as nobly and delicately 
as only such a man could act; and if I had for him even a 
small spark of feeling, I would return to him to-day.” 

Here she repeated the whole conversation with Mashko. 
Even Pani Emilia could not reproach him with anything; 
she could not refuse a certain admiration, though she had 
blamed Mashko for a violent character, and had not ex- 
pected that, in such a grievous moment for himself, he 
would be able to show such moderation and nobleness. 
But Marynia said, — 

‘*My Emilka, I know thy friendship for Pan Stanislav, 
but judge these two men by their acts, not their words, 
and compare them.” 

‘‘Never shall I compare them,” answered Pant Emilia 
‘‘comparison is impossible in this case. For me, Pan 
Stanislav is a nature a hundred times loftier than Mashko, 
but thou judgest him unjustly. Thou, Marynia, hast no 
right to say, ‘ One took Kremen from me; the other wished 
to give it back.’ Such was not the case. Pan Stanislav 
did not take it from thee at any time; but to-day, if he 
could, he would return it with all his heart. Preposses- 
sion is talking through thee.” 

‘‘Not prepossession, but reality, which nothing can 
change.” 

Pani Emilia seated Marynia before her, and said, ‘‘By 
all means, Marynia, prepossession, and I will tell thee why. 
Thou art not indifferent to Pan Stanislav now.” 

Marynia quivered as if some one had touched a wound 
which was paining her; and after a while she replied, with 
changed voice, — 

‘*Pan Stanislav is not indifferent to me; thou art right. 
Everything which in me could be sympathy for him has 
turned to dislike; and hear, Emilka, what I will tell thee. 
If I had to choose between those two men, I should choose 
Mashko without hesitation.” 

Pani Emilia dropped her head; after a while Marynia’s 
arms were around her neck. 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 141 


‘What suffering for me, that I cause thee such pain! 
but I must tell truth. I know that in the end thou, too, 
wilt cease to love me, and I shall be all alone in the 
world.” 

And really something like that had begun. The young 
women parted with embraces and kisses; but still, when 
they found themselves far from each other, both felt that 
something between them had snapped, and that their 
mutual relations would not be so cordial as hitherto. 

Pani Emilia hesitated for a number of days whether to 
repeat Marynia’s words to Pan Stanislav; but he begged 
her so urgently for the whole truth that at last she thought 
it necessary, and that she would better tell it. When all 
had been told, he said, — 

“T thank you. If Panna Plavitski feels contempt for 
me, I must endure it; I cannot, however, endure this, — 
that I should begin to despise myself. As it is, I have 
gone too far. My dear lady, you know that if I have 
done her a wrong, I have tried to correct it, and gain her 
forgiveness. I do not feel bound to further duties. I 
shall have grievous moments; I do not hide that from you. 
But I have not been an imbecile, and am not; I shall be 
able to bring myself to this, —I shall throw all my feelings 
for Panna Plavitski through the window, as I would some- 
thing not needed in my chamber, I promise that sacredly.” 

He went home filled with will and energy. It seemed 
to him that he could take that feeling and break it as he 
might break a cane across his knee. This impulse lasted 
a number of days. During that time he did not show 
himself anywhere, except at his office, where he talked 
with Bigiel of business exclusively. He worked from 
morning till evening and did not permit himself even to 
think about Marynia in the daytime. 

But he could not guard himself from sleepless nights. 
Then came to him the clear feeling that Marynia might 
love him, that she would be the best wife for him, that he 
would be happy with her as never with any one else, and 
that he would love her as his highest good. The regret 
born of these thoughts filled his whole existence, and did 
not leave him any more, so that sorrow was consuming his 
life and his health, as rust consumes iron. Pan Stanislav 
began to grow thin; he saw that the destruction of a feel- 
ing gives one sure result, —the destruction of happiness. 
Never had he seen such a void before him, and never had 


142 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


he felt, with equal force, that nothing would fill it. He 
saw, too, that it was possible to love a woman not as she 
is, but as she might be; therefore his heart-sickness was 
beyond measure. But, having great power over himself, 
he avoided Marynia. He knew always when she was to 
be at Pani Emilia’s, and then he confined himself at home. 

It was only when Litka fell ill again that he began to 
visit Pani Emilia daily, passing hours with the sick child, 
whom Marynia attended also. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 143 


CHAPTER XV. 


Bur poor Litka, after a new attack, which was more 
terrible than any preceding it, could not recover. She 
spent days now lying on a long chair in the drawing- 
room; for at her request the doctor and Pani Emilia had 
agreed not to keep her in bed the whole time. She liked 
also to have Pan Stanislav sitting near her; and she spoke 
to him and her mother about everything that passed through 
her mind. With Marynia she was silent usually; but at 
times she looked at her long, and then raised her eyes to 
the ceiling, as if wishing to think out a thought, and give 
herself an account of something. More than once these 
meditations took place when she was left alone with her 
mother. On a certain afternoon she woke as if from a 
dream, and turning to her mother, said, — 

‘*Mamma, sit near me here on the sofa.” 

Pani Emilia sat down; the child put her arms around 
her neck, and, resting her head on her shoulder, began to 
speak in a caressing voice, which was somewhat enfeebled. 

“JT wanted to ask mamma one thing, but I do not know 
how to ask it.” 

**What is thy wish, my dear child?” 

Litka was silent a moment, collecting her thoughts; 
then she said, — 

““Tf we love some one, mamma, what is it?” 

**Tf we love some one, Litus?” 

Pani Emilia repeated the question, not understanding 
well at first what the little girl was asking, but she did 
not know how to inquire more precisely. 

*“*Then what is it, mamma?” 

“Tt is this, — we wish that one to be well, just as I wish 
thee to be well.” 

**And what more?” 

‘‘And we want that person to be happy, want it to be 
pleasant in the world for that person, and are glad to 
suffer for that person when in trouble.” 

“And what more?” 

“To have that one always with us, as thou art with me; 
and we want that one to love us, as thou lovest me.” 


144 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“T understand now,” said Litka, after a moment’s 
thought; ‘‘and I think myself that that is true,— that it 
is that way.” 

‘*How, kitten?” 

“See, mamma, when I was in Reichenhall, mamma re- 
members? at Thumsee I heard that Pan Stas loves Panna 
Marynia; and now | know that he must be unhappy, though 
he never says so.” 

Pani Emilia, fearing emotion for Litka, said, — 

“Does not this talk make thee tired, kitten?” 

“Oh, no, not a bit, not a bit! I understand now: he 
wants her to love him, and she does not love him; and 
he wants her to be near him always, but she lives with her 
father, and she will not marry him.” 

“Marry him?” 

‘*Marry him. And he is suffering from that, mamma; 
isn’t it true?” 

“True, my child.” 

“Yes, I know all that; and she would marry him if she 
loved him?” 

“Certainly, kitten; he is such a kind man.” 

‘Now I know.” 

The little girl closed her eyes, and Pani Emilia thought 
for a while that she was sleeping; but after a time she 
began to inquire again, — 

“And if he married Marynia, would he cease to love 
us?” 

“No, Litus; he would love us always just the same.” 

‘‘But would he love Marynia?” 

“Marynia would be nearer to him than we. Why dost 
thou ask about this so, thou kitten?” 

“Ts it wrong?” 

“No, there is nothing wrong in it, nothing at all; only I 
am afraid that thou wilt weary thyself.” 

“Oh, no! I am always thinking of Pan Stas anyhow. 
But mamma must n’t tell Marynia about this.” 

With these words ended the conversation, after which 
Litka held silence for a number of days, only she looked 
more persistently than before at Marynia. Sometimes she 
took her hand and turned her eyes to the young woman, as 
if wishing to ask something. Sometimes when Marynia 
and Pan Stanislav were near by, she gazed now on her, now © 
on him, and then closed her lids. Often they came daily, 
sometimes a number of times in the day, wishing to relieve 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 145 


Pani Emilia, who permitted no one to take her place in 
the night at Litka’s bedside; for a week she had been 
without rest at night, sleeping only a little in the day, 
when Litka herself begged her to do so. Still Pani 
Emilia was not conscious of the whole danger which 
threatened the little girl; for the doctor, not knowing what 
that crisis of the disease would be, whether a step in 
advance merely, or the end, pacified the mother the more 
decisively because Pan Stanislav begged him most urgently 
to do so. 

She had a feeling, however, that Litka’s condition was 
not favorable, and, in spite of assurances from the doctor, 
her heart sank more than once from alarm. But to Litka 
she showed always a smiling and joyous face, just as did 
Pan Stanislav and Marynia; but the little girl had learned 
already to observe everything, and Pani Emilia’s most 
carefully concealed alarm did not escape her. 

Therefore on a certain morning, when there was no one 
in her room but Pan Stanislav, who was occupied with 
inflating for her a great globe of silk, which he had brought 
as a present, the little girl said, — 

“Pan Stas, I see sometimes that mamma is very anxious 
because I am sick.” 

He stopped inflating the globe, and answered, — 

**Ai! she doesn’t dream of it. What is working under 
thy hair? But it is natural for her to be anxious; she would 
rather have thee well.” 

“Why are all other children well, and I alone always 
sick?” 

“Nicely well! Weren’t the Bigiel children sick, one 
after another, with whooping-cough? For whole months 
the house was like a sheepfold. And didn’t Yozio have 
the measles? All children are eternally sick, and that is 
the one pleasure with them.” 

“Pan Stas only talks that way, for children are sick and 
get well again.” Here she began to shake her head. “No; 
that is something different. And now I must lie this way 
all the time, for if I get up my heart beats right away; 
and the day before yesterday, when they began to sing on 
the street, and mamma wasn’t in the room, I went to the 
window a little while, aundsaw a funeral. I thought, ‘1, 
too, shall die surely.’ ” 

‘*Nonsense, Litus!” cried Pan Stanislav; and he began 
to inflate the globe quickly to hide his emotion, and to 

10 


146 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


show the child how little her words meant. But she went 
on with her thought, — 

“It is so stifling for me sometimes, and my heart beats 
so—itmamma told me to say then ‘ Under Thy protection,’ 
and I say it always, for I am terribly afraid to die! I 
know that it is nice in heaven, but I shouldn’t be with 
mamma, only alone in the graveyard; yes, in the night.” 

Pan Stanislav laid down the globe suddenly, sat near 
the long chair, and. taking Litka’s hand, said,— 

‘*My Litus, if thou love mamma, if thou love me, do not 
think of such things. Nothing will happen to thee; but thy- 
mother would suffer if she knew what her little girl’s head 
is tilled with. Remember that thou art hurting thyself in 
this way.” 

Litka joined her hands: “My Pan Stas, I ask only one 
thing, not more.” 

He bent his head down to her: “ Well, ask, kitten, only 
something sensible.” 

“Would Pan Stas be very sorry for me?” 

““Ah! but see what a bad girl!” 

‘*My Pan Stas, tell me.” 

**T? what an evil child, Litus! Know that I love thee, 
love thee immensely. God preserve us! there is no one 
in the world that I should be so sorry for. But be quiet 
at least for me, thou suffering fly! thou dearest creature!” 

** T will be quiet, kind Pan Stas.” 

And in the moment when Pani Emilia came, and he was 
preparing to go, she asked, — 

“And Pan Stas is not angry with me?” 

“No, Litus,’”’ answered Pan Stanislav. 

When he had gone to the antechamber he heard a light 
knocking at the door; Pani Emilia had given orders to 
remove the bell. He opened it and saw Marynia, who came 
ordinarily in the evening. Whenshe had greeted him, she 
asked, — 

“How is Litka to-day ?” 

“ As usual.” 

“Has the doctor been here ? ” 

“Yes. He found nothing new. Let me help you!” 

Saying this, he wished to take her cloak, but she was 
unwilling to accept his services, and refused. Having his 
heart full of the previous talk with Litka, he attacked her 
most unexpectedly, — 

“What I offer you is simple politeness, nothing more; 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 147 


and even if it were something more, you might leave your 
repugnance to me outside this threshold, for inside is a 
sick child, whom not only I, but you, profess to love. Your 
response lacks not merely kindness, but even courtesy. I 
would take in the same way the cloak of any other woman, 
and know that at present I am thinking of Litka, and of 
nothing else.” 

He spoke with great passionateness, so that, attacked 
suddenly, Marynia was a little frightened; indeed, she lost 
her head somewhat, so that obediently she let her cloak be 
taken from her, and not only did not find in herself the force 
to be offended, but she felt that a man sincerely and deeply 
affected by alarm and suffering might talk so, therefore a 
man who was really full of feeling and was good at heart. 
Perhaps, too, that unexpected energy of his spoke to her 
feminine nature ; it is enough that Pan Stanislav gained on 
her more in that moment than at any time since their meet- 
ing at Kremen, and never till then was she so strongly 
reminded of that active young man whom she had con- 
ducted once through the garden. The impression, it is true, 
was a mere passing one, which could not decide their mutual 
relations ; but she raised at once on him her eyes, somewhat 
astonished, but not angry, and said, — 

“T beg your pardon.” 

He had calmed himself, and was abashed now. 

“No; I beg pardon of you. Just now Litka spoke of her 
death to me, and I am so excited that I cannot control 
myself; pray understand this, and forgive me.” 

Then he pressed her hand firmly, and went home. 


148 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER XVL 


On the following day Marynia offered to stay at Pani 
Emilia’s till Litka should recover perfectly. Litka sup- 
ported this offer, which Pani Emilia, after a short oppo- 
sition, was forced to accept. In fact, she was dropping down 
from weariness; the health of the sick girl demanded 
unceasing and exceptional watchfulness, for a new attack 
might come at any instant. It was difticult to calculate or 
be sure that a servant, even the most faithful, would not 
doze at the very moment in which speedy assistance might 
save the child’s life; hence the presence of Marynia was a 
real aid to the anxious mother, and calmed her. 

As to Plavitski, he preferred to eat at the restaurant, and 
made no trouble. Marynia, moreover, went in every day 
to inquire about his health and bring domestic accounts 
into order; then she returned to Pani Emilia to sit half the 
night by the little girl. 

In this way Pan Stanislav, who passed at Pani Emilia’s 
all the time free from occupation, and received, or rather 
dismissed with thanks, those who came to inquire for 
Litka’s health, saw Marynia daily. And she in truth 
amazed him; Pani Emilia herself did not show more anxiety 
for the child, and could not nurse her more carefully. Ina 
week Marynia’s face had grown pale from watching and 
alarm; there were dark lines beneath her eyes; but her 
strength and energy seemed to grow hourly. There was in 
her also so much sweetness and kindness, something so 
calm and delicate in the services which she rendered Litka, 
that the child, despite the resentment which she cherished 
in her little soul, began to be kind to her; and when she 
went for some hours to her father, Litka looked for her 
with yearning. ; 

Finally the little girl’s health seemed to improve in the 
last hours, The doctor permitted her to walk in the cham- 
ber and sit in an armchair, which on sunny days was 
pushed to the door opening on the balcony, so that she 
might Jook at the street and amuse herself with the move- 
ment of people and carriages. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 149 


At such times Pan Stanislav, Pani Emilia, and Marynia 
stood near her frequently; their conversation related to 
what was passing on the street. Sometimes Litka was 
wearied, and, as it were, thoughtful; at other times, how- 
ever, her child nature got the upper hand, and everything 
amused her, — hence the October sun, which covered the 
roofs, the walls, and the panes of the shop windows with a 
pale gold; the dresses of the passers-by; the calling of the 
hucksters. It seemed that those strong elements of life, 
pulsating in the whirl of the city, entered the child and 
enlivened her. At times wonderful thoughts came to her 
head; and once, when before the balcony a heavy wagon 
was pushing past which carried lemon-trees in tubs, and 
these, though tied with chains, moved with the motion of 
the wagon, she said, — 

“Their hearts do not palpitate.” And then, raising her 
eyes to Pan Stanislav, she asked, — 

“Pan Stas, do trees live long?” 

“ Very long; some of them live a thousand years.” 

“Oh, I would like to be a tree. And which does mamma 
like best ?” 

“The birch.” 

“Then I would like to be a little birch; and mamma 
would be a big birch, and we should grow together. And 
would Pan Stas like to be a birch ?” 

‘If I could grow somewhere not far from the little 
birch.” 

Litka looked at him shaking her head somewhat sadly, 
said, — 

‘“‘Oh, no! I know all now; I know near what birch Pan 
Stas would like to grow.” 

Marynia was confused, and dropped her eyes on her 
work; Pan Stanislav began to stroke ightly with his palm 
the little blond head, and said, — 

“My dear little kitten, my dear, my —my —” 

Litka was silent; from under her long eyelids flowed 
two tears, and rolled down her cheeks. After a while, 
however, she raised her sweet face, radiant with a smile, — 

‘“‘T love mamma very much,” said she, ‘‘and I love Pan 
Stas, and I love Marynia.” 


150 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


PROFESSOR VASKOVSKI inquired every day about the 
health of the little one; and though most frequently they 
did not receive him, he sent her flowers. Pan Stanislav, 
ineeting him somewhere at dinner, began thanking him 
in Pani Emilia’s name. 

‘Asters, only asters!” said Vaskovski. ‘‘How is she 
to-day?” 

**To-day not ill, but, in general, not well; worse than in 
Reichenhall. Fear for each coming day seizes one; and 
at the thought that the child may be missing —” 

Here Pan Stanislav stopped, for further words failed 
him; at last he burst out, — 

‘**What is the use in looking for mercy? There is noth- 
ing but logic, which says that whoso has a sick heart must 
die. And may thunderbolts spht such existence!” 

Now came Bukatski, who, when he had learned what 
the conversation was, attacked the professor; even he, as 
he loved Litka, rebelled in his soul at thought of that 
death which was threatening her. 

“How is it possible to deceive oneself so many years, 
and proclaim principles which turn into nothing in view 
of blind predestination?” 

But the old man answered mildly: “How, beloved 
friends, estimate with your own measure the wisdom of 
God and His merey? A man under ground is surrounded 
by darkness, but he has no right to deny that above him 
are sky, sun, heat, and light.” 

‘*Here is consolation,” interrupted Pan Stanislav; ‘‘a 
fly could n’t live on such doctrines. And what is a mother 
to do, whose only and beloved child is dying?” 

But the blue eyes of the professor seemed to look beyond 
the world. For a time he gazed straightforward persist- 
ently; then he said, like a man who sees something, but 
is not sure that he sees it distinctly, “It appears to me that 
this child has fixed herself too deeply in people’s hearts to 
pass away simply, and disappear without a trace. There 
is something in this, —something was predestined to her; 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 15% 


she must accomplish something, and before that she will 
not die.” 

‘*Mysticism,” said Bukatski. 

But Pan Stanislav interrupted: ‘‘Oh, that it were so, 
mysticism or no mysticism! Oh, that it were so! A man 
in misfortune grasps even at a shadow of hope. It never 
found place in my head that she had to die.” 

But the professor added, ‘‘ Who knows? she may survive 
all of us.” 

Polanyetski was in that phase of scepticism in which a 
man recognizes certainty in nothing, but considers every- 
thing possible, especially that everything which at the 
given time his heart yearns tor; he breathed therefore 
more easily, and received certain consolation. 

‘*May God have mercy on her and Pani Emilia!” said 
he. ‘‘f would give money for a hundred Masses if I knew 
they would help her.” 

“Give for one, if the intention be sincere.” 

**T will, I will! As to the sincerity of intention, I could 
not be more sincere if the question involved my own life.” 

Vaskovski smiled and said, ‘*Thou art on the good road, 
for thou knowest how to love.” 

And all felt relieved in some way. Bukatski, if he 
was thinking of something opposed to what Vaskovski had 
said, did not dare mention it; for when people in presence 
of real misfortune seek salvation in faith, scepticism, even 
when thoroughly rooted, pulls its cap over its ears, and 
is not only cowardly, but seems weak and small. 

Bigiel, who came in at that moment, saw more cheerful 
faces, and said, — 

“T see by you that the little one is not worse.” 

“No, no,” said Pan Stanislav; “and the professor told 
us such wholesome things that he might be applied to a 
wound.” 

‘*Praise be to God! My wife gave money for a Mass 
to-day, and went then to Pani Emilia’s. I will dine with 
you, for I have leave; and, since Litka is better, I will 
tell you another glad news.” 

“What is it?” 

“Awhile ago I met Mashko, who, by the way, will be 
here soon; and when he comes, congratulate him, for he is 
going to marry.” 

“Whom?” asked Pan Stanislav, 

“My neighbor’s daughter,” 


152 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“Panna Kraslavski? ” 

“+ Viox.s 

“]T understand,” said Bukatski; “he crushed those ladies 
into dust with his grandeur, his birth, his property, and 
out of that dust he formed a wife and a mother-in-law for 
himself.” 

“Tell me one thing,” said the professor; “ Mashko is a 
religious man —” 

“ As a conservative,” interrupted Bukatski, “for appear- 
ance’ sake.” 

* And those ladies, too,” continued Vaskovski. 

“From habit —” 

“Why do they never think of a future life?” 

“Mashko, why dost thou never think of a future life?” 
cried Bukatski, turning to the advocate, who was coming 
in at that moment. 

Mashko approached them and asked, “What dost thou 
say?” 

“T will say Tu felix, Mashko, nube!” (Thou, Mashko, 
art fortunate in marriage!) 

Then all began to offer congratulations, which he received 
with full weight of dignity; at the end he said, — 

*“My dear friends, I thank you from my whole heart; 
and, since ye all know my betrothed, I have no doubt of 
the sincerity of your wishes.” 

“Do not permit thyself one,” said Bukatski. 

“But Kremen came to thee in season,” interjected Pan 
Stanislav. 

Indeed, Kremen had come to Mashko in season, for with- 
out it he might not have been accepted. But for that very 
cause the remark was not agreeable; hence he made a wry 
face, and answered, — 

“Thou didst make that purchase easy; sometimes I am 
thankful to thee, and sometimes I curse thee.” 

eoyvny S02”? 

“For thy dear Uncle Plavitski is the most annoying, 
the most unendurable figure on earth, omitting thy cousin, 
who is a charming young lady; but from morning till 
evening she rings changes on her never to be sufficiently 
regretted Kremen, through all the seven notes, adding at 
each one a tear. Thou art seldom at their house; but, 
believe me, to be there is uncommonly wearisome.” 

Pan Stanislav looked into his eyes and answered, “ Listen, 
Mashko: against my uncle I have said everything that 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 153 


could hit him; but it does not follow, therefore, that I am 
to listen patiently if another attacks Plavitski, especially 
a man who has made profit by him. As to Panna Marynia, 
she is sorry, I know, for Kremen; but this proves that she 
is not an empty puppet, or a manikin, but a woman witha 
heart; dost understand me?” 

A moment of silence followed. Mashko understood per- 
fectly whom Pan Stanislav had in mind when he mentioned 
the empty doll and manikin; hence the freckles on his face 
became brick-colored, and his lips began to quiver. But 
he restrained himself. He was in no sense a coward; but 
even the man who is most daring has usually some one 
with whom he has no wish to quarrel, and for Mashko 
Polanyetski was such a one. Therefore, shrugging his 
shoulders, he said,— 

“Why art thou angry? If that is unpleasing to thee —” 

But Pan Stanislav interrupted, ‘‘I am not angry; but I 
advise thee to remember my words.” And he looked him 
in the eyes again. 

Mashko thought, “If thou wilt have an adventure any- 
how, thou canst have it.” 

‘“Thy words,” said he, “I can remember; only do thor 
take counsel also from me. Permit not thyself to speak 
in that tone to me, else I might forget myself also, and call 
thee to reckoning.”’ 

“What the deuce—” began Bukatski. “ What is the 
matter with thee?” 

But Pan Stanislav, in whom irritation against Mashko 
has been gathering for a long time, would beyond doubt 
have pushed matters to extremes had not Pani Emilia’s 
servant rushed into the room at that moment. 

“T beg,” said he, with a panting voice; ‘‘the little lady 
is dying!” 

Pan Stanislav grew pale, and, seizing his hat, sprang to 
the door. A long, dull silence followed, which Mashko 
interrupted at last. 

‘**T forgot,” said he, ‘‘that everything should be forgiven 
him at present.” 

Vaskovski, covering his eyes with his hands, began to 
pray. At length he raised his head and said, — 

‘*God alone has bridled death, and has power to restrain 
0.7 

A quarter of an hour later, Bigiel received a note from 
his wife with the words, “The attack has passed.” 


154 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


Pan SranistAv hurried to Pani Emilia’s, fearing that 
he would not find Litka living; for the servant told him 
on the way that the little lady was in convulsions, and 
dying. But when hearrived, Pani Emilia ran to meet hin, 
and from the depth of her breast threw out in one breath 
the words, “Better! better!” 

**Ts the doctor here?” 

Seas.” 

‘**But the little one?” 

“Ts sleeping.” 

On the face of Pani Emilia the remnants of fear were 
struggling with hope and joy. Pan Stanislav noticed that 
her lips were almost white, her eyes dry and red, her face 
in blotches; she was mortally wearied, for she had not 
slept for twenty-four hours. But the doctor, a young man, 
and energetic, looked on the danger as passed for the time. 
Pani Emilia was strengthened by what he told her in 
presence of Pan Stanislav, especially this: “We should 
not let it come to a second attack, and we will not.” 

There was real consolation in these words, for evidently 
the doctor considered that they were able to ward off 
another attack; still there was a warning that another 
attack might be fatal. But Pani Emilia grasped at every 
hope, as a man falling over a precipice grasps at the 
branches of trees growing out on the edge of it. 

“We will not; we will not!” repeated she, pressing the 
doctor’s hand feverishly. 

Pan Stanislav looked into his eyes unobserved, wishing 
to read in them whether he said this to pacify the mother, 
or on the basis of medical conviction, and asked as a 
test, — 

“You will not leave her to-day?” 

“T do not see the least need of staying,” answered he. 
“The child is exhausted, and is like to sleep long and 
soundly. I will come to-morrow, but to-day I can go with 
perfect safety.” Then he turned to Pani Emilia, — 

‘*You must rest, too. All danger has passed; the patient 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 155 


should not see on your face any suffering or alarm, for she 
might be disturbed, and she is too weak to endure that.” 

‘**T could not fall asleep,” said Pani Emilia. 

The doctor turned his pale blue eyes to her, and, gazing 
into her face with a certain intensity, said slowly, — 

“In an hour you will lie down, and will fall asleep 
directly; you will sleep unbrokenly for six or eight hours, 
—let us say eight. To-morrow you will be strong and 
refreshed. And now good-night.” 

‘**But drops to the little one, if she wakes?” asked Pani 
Emilia. 

“Another will give the drops; you will sleep. Good- 
night.” And he took farewell. 

Pan Stanislav wished to follow him to inquire alone 
about Litka, but he thought that a longer talk of that kind 
might alarm Pani Emilia; hence he preferred to omit it, 
promising himself that in the morning he would go to the 
doctor’s house and talk there with him. After a while, 
when he was alone with Pani Emilia, he said, — 

“Do as the doctor directed; you need rest. I promise 
to go to Litka’s room now, and I will not leave her the 
whole night.” 

But Pani Emilia’s thoughts were all with the little girl; 
so, instead of an answer, she said to him directly, — 

“Do you know, after the attack, she asked several times 
for you before she fell asleep. And for Marynia too. She 
fell asleep with the question, ‘ Where is Pan Stas?’ ” 

“My poor beloved child, I should have come anyhow 
right after dinner. I flew here barely alive. When did 
the attack begin?” 

“Tn the forenoon. From the morning she was gloomy, 
as if foreboding something. You know that in my presence 
she says always that she is well; but she must have felt 
ill, for before the attack she sat near me and begged me to 
hold her hand. Yesterday, I forgot to tell you that she 
put such strange questions to me: ‘Is it true,’ inquired 
she, ‘that if a sick child asks for a thing it is never re- 
fused?’ I answered that it is not refused unless the child 
asks for something impossible. Some idea was passing 
through her head evidently, for in the evening, when 
Marynia ran in for a moment, she put like questions to us. 
She went to sleep in good humor, but this morning early 
she complained of stifling. It is lucky that I sent for the 
doctor before the attack, and that he came promptly.” 


156 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“Tt is the greatest luck that he went away with such 
certainty that the attack would not be repeated. I am 
perfectly sure that that is his conviction,” answered Pan 
Stanislav. 

Pani Emilia raised her eyes: “The Lord God is so mer- 
eiful, so good, that —” 

In spite of all her efforts, she began to sob, for repressed 
alarm and despair were changed to joy in her, and she 
found relief in tears. In that noble and spiritualized 
nature, innate exaltation disturbed calm thought; by reason 
of this, Pani Emilia never gave anaccount to herself of the 
real state of affairs; now, for example, she had not the 
least doubt that Litka’s illness had ended once for all with 
this recent attack, and that thenceforth a time of perfect 
health would begin for the child. 

Pan Stanislav had neither the wish nor the heart to show 
her a middle road between delight and despair; his heart 
rose with great pity for her, and there came to him one of 
those moments 1n which he felt more clearly than usually 
how deeply, though disinterestedly, he was attached to 
that enthusiastic and idealistic woman. If she had been 
his sister, he would have embraced her and pressed her te 
his bosom; as it was, he kissed her delicate, thin hands, 
and said, — 

“Praise be to God; praise be to God! Let the dear lady 
think now of herself, and I will go to the little one and 
not stir till she wakes.” And he went. 

In Litka’s chamber there was darkness, for the window- 
blinds were closed, and the sun was going down. Only 
through the slats did some reddish rays force their way; 
these lighted the chamber imperfectly and vanished soon, for 
the sky began to grow cloudy. Litka was sleeping soundly. 
Pan Stanislav, sitting near her, looked on her sleeping face, 
and at the first moment his heart was oppressed painfully. 
She was lying with her face toward the ceiling; her thin 
little hands were placed on the coverlid; her eyes were 
closed, and under them was a deep shadow from the lashes. 
Her pallor, which seemed waxen in that reddish half- 
gloom, and her open mouth, finally, the deep sleep, — gave 
her face the seeming of such rest as the faces of the dead 
have. But the movement of the ruffles on her nightdress 
showed that she was living and breathing. Her respira- 
tion was even calm and very regular. Pan Stanislav 
looked for a long time at that sick face, and felt again, 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 157 


with full force, what he had felt often, when he thought 
of himself, —namely, that nature had made him to be a 
father; that, besides the woman of his choice, children 
might be the immense love of his life, the chief object and 
reason of his existence. He understood this, through the 
pity and love which he felt at that moment for Litka, who, 
astranger to him by birth, was as dear to him then as would 
have been his own child. 

“Tf she had been given to me,” thought he; ‘‘if she 
lacked a mother, —I would take her forever, and consider 
that I had something to live for.” 

And he felt also that were it possible to make a bargain 
with death, he would have given himself without hesita- 
tion to redeem that little “kitten,” over whom death seemed 
then to be floating like a bird of prey over adove. Such 
tenderness seized him as he had not felt till that hour; and 
that man, of a character rather quick and harsh, was ready 
to kiss the hands and head of that child, with a tenderness 
of which not even every woman’s heart is capable. 

Meanwhile it had grown dark. Soon Pani Emilia came 
in, shading with her hand a blue night-lamp. 

“She is sleeping?” asked she, in a low voice, placing 
the lamp on the table beyond Litka’s head. 

“She is,” answered Pan Stanislav, in an equally low 
voice. 

Pani Emilia looked long at the sleeping child. 

“ See,’ whispered Pan Stanislav, “how regularly and 
calmly she breathes. To-morrow she will be healthier and 
stronger.” 

“ Yes,” answered the mother, with a smile. 

“Now it is your turn. Sleep, sleep! otherwise I shall 
begin to command without pity.” 

Her eyes continued to smile at him thankfully. In the 
mild blue light of the night-lamp she seemed like an 
apparition. She had a perfectly angelic face; and Pan 
Stanislav thought in spite of himself that she and Litka 
looked really like forms from beyond the earth, which by 
pure chance had wandered into this world. 

“ Yes,” answered she; “I will rest now. Marynia has 
come, and Professor Vaskovski. Marynia wishes absolutely 
to remain.” 

“So much the better. She manages so well near the 
little girl. Good-night.” 

“ Good-night.” 





158 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Pan Stanislav was alone again, and began to think of 
Marynia. At the very intelligence that he would see her 
soon he could not think of aught else ; and now he put the 
question to himself: “In w hat lies this wonderful secret 
of nature in virtue of which I, for example, did not fall in 
love with Pani Emilia, decidedly more beautiful than 
Marynia, likely better, sweeter, more capable of loving, — 
but with that’ girl w hom I know incomparably less, and, 
justly or unjustly, honor less?” Still with every approach 
of his to Marynia there rose in him immediately all those 
impulses which a man may feel at sight of a chosen woman, 
while a real womanly form, like that of Pani Emilia, made 
no other impression on him than if she had been a painting 
or a carving. Why is this, and why, the more culture a 
man has, the more his nerves become subtile, and his sensi- 
tiveness keener, the greater difference does he make be- 
tween woman and woman? Pan Stanislav had no answer 
to this save the one which that doctor in love with Panna 
Kraslavski had given him: “I estimate her coolly, but I 
cannot tear my “soul from her.” That was rather the 
description of a phenomenon than an answer, for which, 
moreover, he had not the time, since Marynia came in at 
that moment. 

They nodded in salutation; he raised a chair then, and 
put it down softly at Litka’s bed, letting Marynia know 
by a sign that she was to sit there. She began to speak 
first, or rather, to whisper. 

“Go to tea now. Professor Vaskovyski is here.” 

* And Pani Emilia ? ” 

“She could not sit up. She said that it was a wonder 
to her, but she must sleep.” 

“T know why: the doctor hypnotized her, and he did 
well. The little girl is indeed better.” 

Marynia gazed into his eyes ; but he repeated, — 

“She is really better —if the attack will not return, 
and there is hope that it will not.” 

“Ah! praise be to God! But go now and drink tea.” 

He preferred, however, to whisper to her near by and 
confidentially, so he said, — 

“T will, I will; but later. Let us arrange meanwhile so 
that you may rest. I have heard that your father is ill. 
Of course you have been watching over him.” 

“ Father is well now, and I wish to take Emilia’s place 
absolutely. She told me that the servants had not slept 


de 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 159 


either all last night, for the child’s condition was alarming 
before the attack. It is needful now that some one be on 
the watch always. I should wish, therefore, so to arrange 
that we —that is, I, you, and Emilka— should follow in 
turn.” 

“Very well; but to-day I will remain. If not here, I 
shall be at call in the next chamber. When did you hear 
of the attack ? ” 

“J did not hear of it. I came as I do usually in the 
evening to learn what was to be heard.” 
~ Pani Emilia’s servant hurried to me while I was din- 
ing. You can‘imagine easily how I flew hither. I was 
not sure of finding her alive. What wonder, since during 
dinner I talked almost all the time of Litka with Bukatski 
and Vaskovski, till Mashko came with the announcement 
of his marriage.” 

“Ts Mashko going to marry ?” 

“Yes. The news has not gone around yet; but he an- 
nounced it himself. He marries Panna Kraslavski; you re- 
member her ?” 

‘¢ She who was at the Bigiels that evening. She is a good 
match for Mashko, Panna Kraslavski.” 

There was silence fora moment. Marynia, who, not loving 
Mashko, had rejected his hand, but who more than once 
had reproached herself for her conduct with regard to him, 
thinking that she had exposed him to deception and suffer- 
ing, could find only comfort in the news that the young 
advocate had borne the blow so easily. Still the news 
astonished her for the time, and also wounded her. 
Women, when they sympathize with some one, wish first 
that some one to be really unhappy, and, secondly, they 
wish to alleviate the misfortune themselves; when it 
turns out that another is able to do that, they undergo a 
certain disillusion. Marynia’s self-love was wounded also 
doubly. She had not thought that it would be so easy to 
forget her; hence she had to confess that her idea of 
Mashko as an exceptional man had no basis. He had been 
for her hitherto a kind of ace in the game against Pan 
Stanislav ; now he had ceased to be that. She felt, there- 
fore, let matters be as they might, somewhat conquered. 
This did not prevent her, it is true, from informing Pan 
Stanislav, with a certain accent of truth, that his news 
eaused her sincere and deep joy, but at bottom she felt 
in some sort offended by him because he had told her. 


160 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


For a certain time Pan Stanislav had acted with her 
very reservedly, and in nothing had he betrayed what was 
happening within him. He did not feign to be too cool, for 
they had to meet; therefore, in meeting her he maintained 
even a certain kindly freedom, but for this very reason she 
judged that he had ceased to love her, and such is human 
nature, that though the old offence was existing yet, and had 
even increased in the soul of the young woman, though her 
first disillusion had changed as it were into a spring, giving 
forth new bitterness continually, still the thought that her 
repugnance was indifferent to him irritated Marynia. Now 
it seemed to her that Pan Stanislav must even triumph over 
her mistake as to Mashko; and at this, that in every case 
she, who shortly before had the choice between Mashko and 
him, has that choice no longer, and will fall, as it were, into 
a kind of neglect somewhat humiliating. 

But he was far from such thoughts. He was glad, it is 
true, that Marynia should know that, by exalting Mashko 
above him, she had been mistaken fundamentally; but he 
had not dreamed even of taking pleasure in this or triumph- 
ing because of her isolation, for at every moment and at 
that time more than any other he was ready to open his 
arms to her, press her to his bosom, and love her. He 
was working, it is true, continually and even with stubborn- 
ness to break in himself those feelings; but he did this only 
because he saw no hope before him, and considered it an 
offence against his dignity as a man to put all the powers 
of his soul and heart into a feeling which was not returned. 
To use his own expression, he wished to avoid surrender, 
and he did avoid surrender, to the best of his power ; but he 
understood perfectly that such a struggle exhausts, and 
that even if it ends with victory it brings a void, instead of 
happiness. Besides, he was far yet from victory. After all 
his efforts he had arrived at this only, — that his feeling was 
mingled with bitterness. Such a ferment dissolves love, it 
is true, for the simple reason that it poisons it; and in time 
this bitterness might have dissolved love in Pan Stanislav’s 
heart. But what an empty result! Sitting then near 
Marynia and looking at her face and head, shone on by the 
light of the lamp, he said to himself, ‘‘If only she wished!” 
That thought made him angry; but since he wanted to be 
sincere with himself, he had to confess that if only she 
wished he would bend to her feet with the greatest readi- 
ness. What an empty result, then, and what a position with- 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 161 


out escape! For he felt that the misunderstanding between 
them had increased so much that even if Marynia de- 
sired a return of those moments passed in Kremen, self- 
love and fear of self-contradiction would close her lips. 
Their relations had become so entangled that they might 
fall in love more easily a second time than come to an 
understanding. * 

After a short conversation there was silence between 
them, interrupted only by the breathing of the sick child 
and the slight, but mournful, sounds of the window-panes, 
on which fine rain was striking. Outside, the night had 
grown wet; it was autumnal, bringing with it oppression, 
gloom, pessimism, and discontent. Equally gloomy seemed 
that chamber, in whose dark corners death appeared to be 
lurking. Hour followed hour more slowly. All at once 
forebodings seized Pan Stanislav. He looked at Litka on a 
sudden, and it seemed to him madness to suppose that she 
eould recover. Vain was watching! vain were hopes and 
illusions! That child must die! she must all the more 
surely, the dearer she was. Pani Emilia will follow her; 
and then there will be a desert really hopeless. What a 
life! See, he, Polanyetski, has those two, the only beings 
in the world who love him, — beings for whom he is some- 
thing; therefore it is clear that he must lose them. With 
them there would be something in life to which he could 
adhere; without them there will be only nothingness and a 
certain kind of future, blind, deaf, unreasoning, with the 
face of an idiot. 

The most energetic man needs some one to love him. 
Otherwise he feels death within, and his energy turns against 
life. A moment like that had come now to Pan Stanislav. 
“T do not know absolutely why I should not fire into my 
forehead,” thought he, “ not from despair at losing them, but 
because of the nothing without them. If life must be sense- 
less, there is no reason to permit this senselessness, unless 
through curiosity to learn how far it can go.” But this 
thought did not appear in him as a plan; it was rather the 
effort of a man writhing at the chain of misfortune, a burst 
of anger in a man seeking some one against whom to turn. 
In Pan Stanislav this anger turned suddenly on Marynia. 
He did not know himself why ; but it seemed to him at 
once that all the evil which had happened, had happened 
through her. She had brought into their circle a dislike not 


there before, suffering not there before, and had thrown, as 
ll 


162 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


it were, some stone into their smooth water; and now the 
wave, which was spreading more and more widely, covered 
not only him, but Pani Emilia and Litka. As aman govern- 
ing himself by judgment, not by nerves, he understood how 
vain were reproaches of this sort; still he could not put down 
the remembrance that before Marynia came it was better in 
every way, and so much better even, that he might consider 
that as a happy period of his life. He loved then only 
Litka, with that untroubled, fatherly feeling, which did not 
and could not bring bitterness fora moment. Who knows, 
besides, if in time he might not have been able to love Pani 
Emilia? She, it is true, had not for him other feelings than 
those of friendship, but perhaps only because he did not 
desire other feelings. High-minded women frequently re- 
fuse themselves feelings which go beyond the boundary of 
friendship, so as not to render difficult and involved the life 
of some one who might, but does not wish to become dear. 
Meanwhile in the depth of the soul lies a calm secret 
melancholy ; they find sweetness and consolation in the 
tenderness permitted by friendship. 

Pan Stanislav, by becoming acquainted with Marynia, gave 
her at once the best part of his feelings. Why? for what 
purpose ? Only to give himself suffering. Now, to com- 
plete the misfortune, that Litka, the one ray of his life, 
had died, or might die any moment. Pan Stanislav looked 
again at her, and said in his soul, — 

“Remain even, thou dear child; thou knowst not how 
needful thou art to me and to thy mother. God guard 
thee; what a life there will be without thee !” 

Suddenly he saw that the eyes of the child were looking 
at him. For a while he thought himself mistaken, and did 
not dare to stir; but the little maiden smiled, and finally 
she whispered, — 

“Pan Stas.” 

“Tt is I, Litus. How dost thou feel ?” 

“ Well; but where is mamma?” 

“She will come right away. We had a great struggle to 
make her go to bed to sleep, and we hardly persuaded her.” 

Litka turned her head, and, seeing Marynia, said, — 

“Ah! is that Aunt Marynia?” 

For some time she had called her aunt. 

Marynia rose, and, taking the vial which stood on the 
shelf, poured drop after drop into a spoon; then she gave 
them to Litka, who, when she had finished drinking, 
pressed her lips to Marynia’s forehead. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 163 


A moment of silence followed; then the child said, as if 
to herself, — 

“There is no need of waking mamma.” 

“No; no one will wake her,” answered Pan Stanislav. 
** All will be as Litus wishes.” 

And he began to stroke her hand, which was lying on 
the coverlid. She looked at him, repeating, as was her 
wont, — 

“Pan Stas, Pan Stas!” 

For a while it seemed that she would fall asleep; but 
evidently the child was thinking of something with great 
effort, for her brows rose. At last, opening widely her 
eyes, she looked now at Pan Stanislav, and now at Marynia. 
In the room nothing was heard save the sound of rain on 
the windows. 

“What is the matter with the child?” asked Marynia. 

But she, clasping her hands, whispered in a voice barely 
audible, “I have a great, great prayer to Aunt Marynia, 
but — I am afraid to say it.” 

Marynia bent her mild face toward the little girl. 

“Speak, my love; I will do everything for thee.” 

Then the little girl, seizing her hand, and pressing it to 
her lips, whispered, — 

“T want Aunt Marynia to love Pan Stas.” 

In the silence which followed after these words was to 
be heard only the somewhat increased breathing of the 
little girl. At last the calm voice of Marynia was heard, — 

“Very well, my love.” 

A spasm of weeping seized Pan Stanislav suddenly by 
the throat; everything, not excluding Marynia, vanished 
from his eyes before that child, who, at such a moment, 
sick, powerless, and in the face of death, thought only 
of him. 

Litka asked further, — 

‘**And will aunt marry Pan Stas?” 

In the light of the blue lamp Marynia’s face seemed 
very pale; her lps quivered, but she answered without 
hesitation, — 

Sewall.. hitus.” 

The little girl raised Marynia’s hand to her lips a second 
time; her head fell on the pillow, and she lay for a while 
with closed lids; after some time, however, two tears 
flowed down her cheeks. Then followed a longer silence; 
the rain was beating against the window-panes. Pan 


164 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Stanislav and Marynia were sitting motionless without 
looking at each other; both felt, however, that tneir tates 
had been decided that night, but they were as it aazed 
by what had happened. In the chaos of thought and teel- 
ings neither of them knew how to note or indicate what 
was passing within them. In that silence, which was 
kept instinctively, lest perchance they might look each 
other in the eyes, hour followed hour. ‘The clock struck 
midnight, then one; about two Pani Emilia slipped in like 
a shadow. 

‘**Is she sleeping?” inquired she. 

‘“*No, mamma,” answered Litka. 

“ Art thou well?” 

**Well, mamma.” 

And when Pani Emilia sat near her bed, the little one 
embraced her neck; and, nestling her yellow head at her 
breast, she said, — 

“T know now, mamma, that when a sick child begs for 
anything, people never refuse.” 

And she nestled up to her mother some time yet; then, 
drawing out each word as sleepy children do, or very 
tired ones, she said, — 

“Pan Stas will not be sad any more; and I will teil 
mamma why —” 

But here her head became heavy on her mother’s breast, 
and Pani Emilia felt the cold sweat coming on the hands 
of the child, as well as on her temples. 

“Titus!” exclaimed she, with a suppressed, frightened 
voice. 

And the child began, — 

‘*T feel so strange, so weak —” 

Her thoughts grew dim; and after a while she continued, — 

**Oh, the sea is rolling—such a big sea! —and we are 
all sailing on it. Mamma! mamma!” 

And a new attack came, dreadful, pitiless. The little 
girl’s body was drawn in convulsions, and her eyesight 
turned toward the back of her head. There was no chance 
of illusion this time; death was at hand, and visible in the 
pale light of the lamp, in the dark corner of the room, in 
the sound of the window-panes, stricken by the rain, and 
in the noise of the wind, full of terrified voices and cries. 

Pan Stanislav sprang up and ran for the doctor. Ina 
quarter of an hour both appeared before the closed doors 
of the room, uncertain whether the child was living yet, 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 165 


and they disappeared through it immediately, — first Pan 
Stanislav, then the doctor, who, from the moment that 
they had pulled him out of bed, kept repeating one phrase, 
‘Ts it fear or emotion?” 

Some of the servants, with sleepy and anxious faces, 
were gathered at the door, listening; and in the whole 
house followed a silence, long continued, which weighed 
down like lead. 

It was broken at last by Marynia, who was the first tc 
come out of the closed chamber, her face as pale as linen, 
and she said hurriedly ,— 

‘*Water for the lady! the little lady is living no longer,” 


166 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


AvuTUMN, in its last days, smiles on people at times with 
immense sadness, but mildly, like a woman dying of 
decline. It was on such a mild day that Litka’s funeral 
took place. There is pain mingled with a certain consola- 
tion in this, —that those left behind think of their dead 
and feel the loss of them. Pan Stanislav, occupied with 
the funeral, was penetrated by that calm and pensive day 
with still greater sadness; but, transferring Litka’s feelings 
to himself, he thought that the child would have wished 
just such a day for her burial, and he found in this thought 
a certain solace. Till that moment he had not been able 
simply to measure his sorrow; such knowledge comes later, 
and begins only when the loved one is left in the grave- 
yard, and a man returns by himself to his empty house. 
Besides, preparations for the funeral had consumed Pan 
Stanislav’s whole time. Life has surrounded with arti- 
ficial forms, and has complheated, such a simple act as death. 
Pan Stanislav wished to show Litka that last service, 
which, moreover, there was no one else to perform. All 
those springs of life through which man thinks, resolves, 
and acts, were severed in Pani Emilia by the death of her 
child. ‘This time the wind seemed too keen for the fleece 
of the lamb. Happily, however, excessive pain either 
destroys itself, or benumbs the human heart. This hap- 
pened with Pani Emilia. Pan Stanislav noticed that the 
predominant expression of her face and eyes was a measure- 
less, rigid amazement. As in her eyes there were no tears, 
so in her mouth there were no words,—merely a kind of 
whisper, at once tragic and childish, showing that her 
thought did not take in the misfortune, but hovered around 
the minutiz accompanying it; she seized at these, and 
attended to them with as much carefulness as if her child 
were alive yet. In the room, now turned into a chamber 
of mourning, Litka, reposing on a satin cushion amid 
flowers, could want nothing; meanwhile the heart of the 
mother, grown childish from pain, turned continually to 
this: what could be lacking to Litka? When they tried 
to remove her from the body, she offered no resistance; she 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 167 


merely lost the remnant of her consciousness, and began to 
groan, as if pained beyond endurance. 

Pan Stanislav and her husband’s brother, Pan Hvas- 
tovski, who had come just before the funeral, strove to 
lead her away at the moment Litka was covered with the 
coftin-lid; but when Pani Emila began to call the little one 
by name, courage failed the two men. 

The procession moved at last with numerous torches, 
and drew after it a train of carriages, preceded by priests, 
chanting gloomily, and surrounded by a crowd of the 
curious, who in modern cities feed their eyes with the 
sorrow of others, as in ancient times they fed them in 
the cireus with the blood of people. 

Pani Emilia, attended by her husband’s brother, and 
having Marynia at her side, walked also behind the cara- 
van with dry and expressionless face. Her eyes saw only 
one detail, and her mind was occupied with that alone. 
It had happened that a lock of Litka’s flaxen, immensely 
abundant hair was outside the coffin. Pani Emilia did 
not take her eyes from it the whole way, repeating again 
and again, “O God, O God! they have nailed down the 
child’s hair!” 

In Pan Stanislav’s sorrow, weariness, nervous disturb- 
ance, resulting from sleeplessness, became a feeling of such 
unendurable oppression that at moments he was seized by 
an invincible desire to turn back when he had gone half- 
way, —return home, throw himself on a sofa, not think 
of anything, not wish anything, not love any one, not feel 
anything. At the same time this revulsion of self-love 
astounded him, made him indignant at himself: he knew 
that he would not return; that he would drain that cup to 
the bottom, that he would go to the end, not only because 
it would happen so, but because sorrow for Litka, and 
attachment to her, would be stronger than his selfishness. 
He felt, too, at that moment, that all his other feelings 
were contracted and withered, and that for the whole world 
he had in his heart merely nothing, at least, at that 
moment. For that matter his thoughts and feelings had 
fallen into perfect disorder, composed of external impres- 
sions received very hastily, observations made, it was 
unknown why, and mixed all together mechanically with a 
feeling of sorrow and pain. At times he looked at the 
houses past which the procession was moving, and he dis- 
tinguished their colors. At times some shop sign caught 


168 CHILDREN: OF THE SOIL. 


his eye; this he read, not knowing why he did so. Then 
again he thought that the priests had ceased to sing, but 
would begin directly; and he was waiting for that renewed 
continuance of sad voices, as if in a kind of dread. At 
times he reasoned lke a man who, waking from sleep, 
wishes to give himself an account of reality: “Those are 
houses,” said he to himself; ‘those are signs; that is the 
odor of pitch from the torches; and there on the bier lies 
litka; and we are going to the graveyard.” And all at 
once there rose in him a wave of sorrow for that sweet, 
beloved child, for that dear face which had smiled so many 
times at him. He recalled her from remoter and from 
recent days; remembered her in Reichenhall, where he 
carried her when returning from Thumsee; and later at 
Bigiel’s, in the country; and in Pani Emilia’s house, when 
she said that she wanted to be a birch-tree; and finally, 
when, a few hours before her death, she entreated Marynia 
to marry him. Pan Stanislav did not say directly to him- 
self that Litka loved him as a grown woman loves, and 
that, in betrothing him to Marynia, she had performed an 
act of sacrifice, for the feelings of the little girl were not 
known, and could not be defined with precision; he felt 
perfectly, however, that there was something like that 
love in her, and that the sacrifice took place, flowed, in | 
fact, from that deep and exceptional attachment which 
Litka had felt for him. Since the loss of even those who 
are dearest is felt most of all through the personal loss 
which we suffer, Pan Stanislav began to repeat to himself: 
‘*That was the one soul that loved me truly; I have no 
one in the whole world now.” And, raising his eyes to the 
coffin, to that tress of blond hair which was waving in the 
wind, he cried out in spirit to Litka with all those tender 
expressions with which he had spoken to her while in life. 
Finally, he felt that tears were choking him, because that 
was a call without echo. ‘There is something heart-rend- 
ing in the indifference of the dead. When the one who 
reflected every word and glance has become indifferent, 
when the loving one is icy, the one who was near in daily 
life, and next the heart, is full of solemnity, and far away, 
it avails not to repeat to one’s self: “Death, death!” In 
addition to all pain connected with the loss, there is a 
harrowing deception, as if an injustice to the heart had 
been wrought by that lifeless body, which remains deaf to 
our pain andentreaty. Pan Stanislav had, in this manner, 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 169 


at the bottom of his soul, a feeling that Litka, by taking 
herself from him, and going to the region of death, had 
done an injustice; and from being one who is near, she 
had become one remote; from being a confidant, she had 
become formal, far away, lofty, sacred, and also perfectly 
indifferent to the despair of her mother and the deep loneli- 
ness of her nearest friend. There was much selfishness in 
those feelings of Pan Stanislav; but were it not for that 
selfishness, which, tirst of all, has its own loss and loneli- 
ness in mind, people, especially those who believe in life 
beyond the grave and its happiness, would feel no grief for 
the dead. 

The procession passed out at last from the city to clearer 
and more open spaces, and beyond the barrier advanced 
along the cemetery wall, which was fronted with a garland 
of beggars, and with garlands of immortelles and ever- 
ereens intended for grave mounds. The line of priests in 
white surplices, the funeral procession with torches, the 
hearse with the coffin, and the people walking behind it, 
halted before the gate; there they removed Litka. Pan 
Stanislav, Bukatski, Hvastovski, and Bigiel bore her to 
the grave of her father. 

That silence, and the void which, after each funeral, is 
waiting for people at home when they return from fresh 
graves, seemed this time to begin even at the cemetery. 
The day was calm, pale, with here and there the last 
yellowed leaves dropping from the trees without a rustle. 
The funeral procession was belittled amid these wide, pale 
spaces, which, studded with crosses, seemed endless, —as 
if, in truth, that cemetery opened into infinity. The black, 
leatless trees with tops formed of slender branches, as it 
were, vanishing in the light, gray and white tombstones 
resembling apparitions, the withered leaves on the ground, 
covering long and straight alleys, —all these produced at 
once a genuine impression of Elysian fields of some sort, 
fields full of deep rest, but full also of deep, dreamy melan- 
choly, certain “cold and sad places” of which the gloomy 
head of Cesar dreamed, and to which now was to come one 
more “animula vagula.” 

The coffin stopped at last above the open grave. The pierc- 
ing ‘‘Requiem eternam” was heard, and then ‘‘Anima 
ejus.” Pan Stanislav, through the chaos of bis thoughts 
and impressions, and through the veil of his own sorrow, 
saw, as in a dream, the stony face and glassy eyes of Pani 


170 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Emilia, the tears of Marynia, which irritated him at that 
moment, the pale face of Bukatski, on whose features the 
expression was evident that his philosophy of life, having 
no work to do at that graveyard, had left him and Litka’s 
coftin at the gate. When each threw a handtul of sand on 
the coftin-lid, he followed the example of others; when they 
lowered the coffin on straps into the depth of the grave, 
and closed the stone doors, something seized him anew by 
the throat, so that all of which he had been thinking, and 
had learned hitherto, was changed into one nothingness. 
He repeated in his soul the simple words: “'Till we meet, 
Litus !’’ — words which, when he recalled them afterwards, 
seemed to have no relation to the torturing mental storm 
within him. ‘This was the end. ‘The funeral procession 
began to decrease and melt away. After a time Pan Stan- 
islav was roused by the wind, which came from afar from be- 
tween the crosses. He saw now at the grave Pani Emilia 
with Marynia, Pani Bigiel, Vaskovski, and Litka’s uncle; 
be said to himself that he would go out last, and waited, 
repeating in his soul, “Till we meet, Litus!” He was 
thinking of death, and of this, —that he, too, would come 
to this place of monuments, and that it is an ocean into 
which all thoughts, feelings, and efforts are flowing. It 
seemed to him then as if he and all who were there at 
the grave, or had returned home, were on a ship sailing 
straight to the precipice. Of life beyond the grave he had 
no thought at that moment. 

Meanwhile the short autumn twilight came on; the 
crosses grew still less distinct. The old professor and 
Pan Hvastovski conducted Pani Emilia to the cemetery 
gate without resistance on her part. Pan Stanislav re- 
peated once more, “Till we meet, dear child!” and passed 
out. 

Beyond the gate he thought: “It is fortunate that the 
mother is unconscious, for what a terrible thought to leave 
a child there alone. The dead forsake us, but we too for- 
sake them.” 

In fact, he saw from a distance the carriage in which 
Pani Emilia was riding away, and it seemed to him that 
such an order of things in the world has in it something 
revolting. Still when he had sat down alone in his droshky, 
he felt a moment of selfish relief, flowing from the feeling 
that a certain torturing and oppressive act had been ended, 
after which would come rest. On returning to his own 





CHILDREN OF THE SOL. aly (i 


dwelling, it appeared empty, without a ray of gladness, 
without consolation or hope; but when at tea, he stretched 
himself on the sofa, an animal delight in repose after labor 
took possession of him, with a feeling of solace, and even 
as 1t were of satisfaction, that the funeral was over and 
Litka was buried. He remembered then the opinion of a 
certain thinker: “I know no criminals; I know only honest 
people, and they are disgusting.” Pan Stanislav seemed to 
himself repulsive at that moment. 

In the evening he remembered that it was needful to 
inquire about Pani Emilia, whom Marynia was to take for 
some weeks to her own house. While going out, he saw a 
photograph of Litka on the table, and kissed it. <A quarter 
of an hour later he rang the bell at the Plavitskis’. 

The servant told him that Plavitski had gone out, but 
that Professor Vaskovski and Father Hylak were there 
beside Pani Emilia. Marynia received him in the draw- 
ing-roomm ; her hair was badly dressed, her eyes red; she 
was almost ugly. But her former way of meeting him had 
changed entirely, as if she had forgotten all offences in 
view of more unhappy subjects. 

“Emilia is with me,’ whispered she, “and is in a bad 
state ; but it seems that at least she understands what is 
said. Professor Vaskovski is with her. He speaks with 
such feeling. Do you wish to see Emilia absolutely ? ” 

“No. Ihave come merely to inquire how she feels, and 
shall go away directly.” 

“T do not know —she might like to see you. Wait a 
moment; I will go and say that you are here. Litka loved 
you so; for that reason alone perhaps it would be pleasant 
for Emilia to see you.” 

“Very well.” 

Marynia went to the next chamber; but evidently did 
not begin conversation at once, for to Pan Stanislav there 
came from the door, not her voice, but that of Vaskovski, 
full of accents of deep conviction, and also, as it were, of 
effort, striving to break through the armor of insensibility 
and suffering. 

“Tt is as if your child had gone to another room after 
play,” said the old professor; “and as if she were to return 
at once. She will not return, but you will go to her. My 
dear lady, look at death, not from the side of this world, 
but from the side of God. ‘The child lives and is happy; 
for, being herself in eternity, she considers this separation 


172 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


from you as lasting one twinkle of an eye. Litka is liv- 
ing,’ continued he, with emphasis; “she is living and 
happy. She sees that you are coming to her, and she 
stretches forth her hands to you; she knows that in a 
moment you will come, for from God’s point of view life 
and pain are less than the twinkle of an eye, —and then 
eternity with Litka. ‘Think, dearest lady, with Litka in 
peace, in joy,— without disease, without death. Worlds 
will pass away, and you will be together.” 

“Tt would be well were that certain,” thought Pan Stan- 
islav, bitterly. But after a while he thought, “If I felt 
that way, I should have some cause to go in; otherwise 
not.” 

Still in spite of this thought he went in, not waiting 
even for Marynia’s return; for it seemed to him that if 
he had no cause, he had a duty, and he was not free to be 
cowardly in presence of the suffering of others. Selfishness 
is “cotton in the ears against human groans,” and excuses 
itself in its own eyes by saying that nothing can be said to 
great suffering to relieve it. Pan Stanislav understood 
that this was the case, and was ashamed to withdraw com- 
fortably instead of going to meet the sorrow of a mother. 
When he entered, he saw Pani Emilia sitting on the sofa; 
above the sofa was a lamp, and lower than the lamp a 
palm, which cast a shadow on that unhappy head, as if 
gigantic fingers were opened above it. Near Pani Emilia 
sat Vaskovski, who was holding her hands and looking into 
her face. Pan Stanislav took those hands from him, and, 
bending down, began to press them to his lips in silence. 

Pani Emilia blinked a while, like a person striving to 
rise out of sleep; then she cried suddenly, with an un- 
expected outburst, — 

“Remember how she —” 

And she was borne away by a measureless weeping, 
during which her hands were clasped, her lips could not 
catch breath, and her bosom was bursting from sobs. At 
last strength failed her, and she fainted. When she re- 
covered, Marynia led her to her own chamber. Pan Stanis- 
lav and Vaskovski went to the adjoining reception-room, 
where they were detained by Plavitski, who had come in 
just that moment. 

“Such asad person in the house,” said he, — “ it spoils 
life terribly. A little peace and freedom should be due to 
me; but what is to be done, what is to be done? I must 
descend to the second place, and I am ready.” 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 173 


At the end of half an hour Marynia came with the an- 
nouncement that at her request Pani Emilia had gone to 
bed, and was a little calmer. Pan Stanislav and Vaskovski 
took leave, and went out. 

They walked along in a dense fog, which rose from the 
earth after a calm day, hiding the streets and forming parti- 
colored circles around the lamps. Both were thinking of 
Litka, who was passing her first night among the dead, and 
at a distance from her mother. To Pan Stanislav this 
seemed simply terrible, not for Litka, but for Pani Emilia, 
who had to think of it. He meditated also over the words 
spoken by Vaskovski, and said at last, — 

‘“‘T heard thy words. If they gave her solace, it is well; 
but if that were true, we should make a feast now, and 
rejoice that Litka is dead.” 

“But whence dost thou know that we shall not be happy 
after death ? ” 

«“ Wilt thou tell me whence thou hast the knowledge that 
we shall ? ” 

“JT do not know; I believe.” 

There was no answer to this; therefore Pan Stanislav 
said, as if to himself, “ Merey, empyrean light, eternity, 
meeting; but what is there in fact ? The corpse of a child 
in the grave, and a mother who is wailing from pain. 
Grant that death has produced thy faith at least; yet it 
brings doubt, because thou art grieving for the child. Iam 
grieving still more; and this grief casts on me directly the 
question, ‘ Why did she die? Why such cruelty ?’ I know 
that this question is a foolish one, and that milliards of 
people have put it to themselves; but, if this knowledge is 
to be my solace, may thunderbolts split it! I know, too, 
that I shall not find an answer, and for that very reason I 
want to gnash my teeth and curse. I do not understand, 
and I rebel; that is all. That is the whole result, which 
thou canst not recognize as the one sought for.” 

Vaskovski answered also, as if speaking to himself, 
“ Christ rose from the dead, for He was God; but He rose 
as man, and He passed through death. How can I, poor 
worm, do otherwise than magnify the Divine Will and Wis- 
dom in death ? ” 

To this Pan Stanislav answered, — 

“Tt is impossible to talk with thee!” 

‘“‘It is slippery,” answered Vaskovski; “give me thy 
arm.” And, taking Pan Stanislav by the arm, he leaned on 


174 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


him, and said, “ My dear friend, thou hast an honest and a 
loving heart; thon didst love that little girl greatly , thou 
wert ready to do much for her. Do this one thing now, — 
whether thou believest or not,—say for her, ‘ Eternal 
rest!’ If thou think that that will be no good to her, say 
to thyself, ‘I can do no more, but I will do that.’ ” 

“Give me peace!” answered Pan Stanislav. 

“That may not be needful to her, but thy remembrance 
of her will be dear; she will be grateful, and will obtain 
the grace of God for thee.” 

Pan Stanislav remembered how Vaskovski, at news of 
Litka’s last attack, said that the life of the child could not 
be purposeless, and that if she had to die she was pre- 
destined to do something before death; and now he wished 
to attack Vaskovski on this point, when the thought flashed 
on him that, before her death, Litka had united him with 
Marynia ; and it occurred to him that perhaps she had lived 
for this very purpose. But at that moment he rebelled 
against the thought. Anger at Marynia seized him; he 
was full of stubbornness, and almost contempt. 

“T do not want Marynia at such a price!” thought he, 
gritting his teeth; “I do not! I have suffered enough 
through her. I would give ten such for one Litka.” 

Meanwhile Vaskovski, trotting near him, said, — 

‘« Nothing is to be seen at a step’s distance, and the stones 
are slippery from fog. Without thee I should have fallen 
long ago.” 

Pan Stanislav recovered himself, and answered, — 

“ Whoso walks on the earth, professor, must look down, 
not up.” 

“Thou hast good legs, my dear friend.” 

“And eyes which see clearly, even in a fog like this 
which surrounds us. And it is needful, for we all live ina 
fog, and deuce knows what is beyond it. All that thou 
sayest makes on me such an impression as the words of a 
man who would break dry twigs, throw them into a torrent, 
and say, Flowers will come from these. Rottenness will 
come, nothing more. From me, too, this torrent has torn 
away something from which I am to think that a flower 
will rise? Folly! But here is thy gate. Good-night !” 

And they separated. Pan Stanislav returned to his own 
house barely alive, he was so weary; and, when he had Jain 
down in bed, he began to torture himself with thoughts fur- 
ther continued, or rather with visions. To begin with, 





La A 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 175 


before his eyes appeared the figure of Pani Emilia, power- 
less from pain; she was sitting in Marynia’s parlor, under 
the palm-leaf, which was hanging over her head like an 
immense ill-omened hand, with outspread, grasping fingers, 
and it cast a shadow on her face. “I might philosophize 
over that till morning,” muttered he. ‘ Everything out of 
which life is constructed is a hand like that, from which a 
shadow falls, —nothing more. But if there were a little 
mercy besides, the child would not have died; but with 
what Vaskovski says, you could n’t keep life in a sparrow.” 

Here he remembered, however, that Vaskovski not only 
spoke of death, but begged him also to say “eternal rest” 
for Litka. Pan Stanislav began now to struggle with him- 
self. His lips were closed through lack of a deep faith 
that Litka might hear his “eternal rest,” and that it might 
be of good to her. He felt, besides, a kind of shame to 
speak words which did not flow from the depth of his con- 
viction, and felt also the same kind of shame not to say the 
“eternal rest.” “For, finally, what do I know ?” thought 
he. “Nothing. Around is fog and fog. Likely nothing 
will come to her from that; but, let happen what may, that 
is in truth the only thing that I can do now for my kitten, 
—for that dear child,— who was mindful of me on the 
night that she died.” 

And he hesitated for a time yet; at last he knelt and 
said, “eternal rest.” It did not bring him, however, any 
solace, for it roused only the more sorrow for Litka, and 
also anger at Vaskovski, because he had pushed him into a 
position in which he had either to fall into contradiction 
with himself or be, as it were, a traitor to Litka. He felt, 
finally, that he had had enough of that kind of torment, and 
he determined to go early in the morning to his office and 
occupy himself with Bigiel on the first commercial affair 
that presented itself, if it were only to tear away his 
thought from the painful, vicious circle in which for some 
days he had been turning. 

But in the morning Bigiel anticipated him, and came to 
his house; maybe, too, with the intent to occupy him. Pan 
Stanislav threw himself with a certain interest into the 
examination of current business; but he and Bigiel were 
not long occupied, for an hour later Bukatski came to say 
farewell to them. 

“Tam going to Italy to-day,” said he, “and God knows 
when I shall return. I wish to say to you both, Be in good 


176 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


health. The death of that child touched me more than I 
thought it would.” 

“ Art thou going far?” 

“Oh, there would be much talk in the answer. With us, 
this is how it happens: Be a Buddhist, or whatever may 
please thee, the kernel of the question is this: one believes 
a little, trusts a little in some sort of mercy, and thus lives. 
Meanwhile, what happens? Reality slaps us daily in the 
face, and brings us into mental agony and anguish, into 
moral straits. With us, one is always loving somebody, or 
is tormented with somebody’s misfortune; but I do not 
want this. It tortures me.” 

“ How will the Italians help thee?” 

“How will they help me? ‘They will, for in Italy I have 
the sun, which here I have not; Ll have art, which here I 
have not, and I feel for it a weakness; I have chianti,? 
which does good to the catarrh of my stomach; and finally, 
I have people for whom I care nothing and nothing, and 
who may die for themselves in hundreds without causing 
me any bitterness. 

“T shall look at pictures, buy what I need, nurse my 
rheumatism, my headache; and I shall be for myself a 
more or less elegant, a more or less well nourished, a more 
or less healthy animal, — which, believe me, is still the 
kind and condition of life most desired. Here I cannot 
be that beast which, from my soul, I wish to be.” 

‘*Thou art right, Bukatski. We, as thou seest, are sit- 
ting with our accounts, also somewhat for this, — to become 
more idiotic, and not think of aught else. When we 
acquire such a fortune as thou hast, I don’t know how it 
is with Bigiel, but I will follow in thy steps.” 

‘*Then till we see each other again in time and space!” 
said Bukatski. 

A while after his departure, Pan Stanislav said, — 

“He is right. How happy I should be, for example, 
if I had not become attached to that child and Pani Emilia! 
In this respect we are incurable, and we spoil our lives 
voluntarily. He is right. In this country one is always 
loving some person or something; it is an inherited disease. 
Eternal romanticism, eternal sentimentalism, —and eter- 
nally pins in the heart.” 

‘*Old Plavitski bows to thee,” said Bigiel. ‘‘That man 
loves nobody but himself.” 


1 An Italian wine. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 177 


“Tn reality, this is perhaps true; but he lacks the courage 
to tell himself that that is permissible and necessary. Nay, 
what is more, he is convinced that it is needful to act 
otherwise; and through this he is in continual slavery. 
Here, though a man have a nature like Plavitski’s, he 
must feign even to himself that he loves some one or 
something.” 

“But will you visit Pani Emilia to-day?” asked Bigiel. 

“Of course! If I were to say, for example, ‘I have the 
malaria,’ I should not cure myself by saying so.” 

And, in fact, not only was he at Pani Emilia’s that day, 
but he was there twice; for at his first visit he did not find 
the ladies at home. ‘To the question where his daughter 
was, Plavitski answered, with due pathos and resignation, 
“T have no daughter now.” Pan Stanislav, not wishing to 
tell him fables, for which he felt a sudden desire, went 
away, and returned only in the evening. 

This time Marynia herself received him, and informed 
him that Pani Emilia had slept for the first time since 
Litka’s funeral. While saying this, she left her hand a 
certain time in his. Pan Stanislav, in spite of all the dis- 
order in which his thoughts were, could not avoid noticing 
this; and, when he looked at last with an inquiring glance 
into her eyes, he discovered that the young lady’s cheeks 
flushed deeply. They sat down, and began to converse. 

“We were at Povanzki,” said Marynia, “and I promised 
Emilia to go there with her every day.” 

“But is it well for her to remember the child so every 
day, and open her wounds?” 

“But are they healed?” answered Marynia,: “or is it 
possible to say to her, ‘Do not go’? I thought myself 
that it would not be well, but grew convinced of the con- 
trary. At the graveyard she wept much, but was the 
better for it. On the way home she remembered what 
Professor Vaskovski had told her, and the thought is for 
her the only consolation, —the-only.” 

‘Let her have even such a one,” answered Pan Stanislav. 

“You see, I did not dare to mention Litka at first, but 
she speaks of her all the time. Do not fear to speak to 
her of the child, for it gives her evident solace.” 

Here the young lady continued in a lower, and, as it 
were, an uncertain voice, “She reproaches herself continu- 
ally for having listened to the assurances of the doctor the 
last night, and gone to sleep; she is sorry for those last 

12 


178 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


moments, which she might have passed with Litka, and 
that thought tortures her. ‘To-day, when we were return- 
ing from the graveyard, she asked about the smallest 
details. She asked how the child looked, how long she 
slept, whether she took medicine, what she said, whether 
she spoke to us; then she implored me to remember every- 
thing, and not omit a single word.” 

**And you did not omit anything?” 

7 No.” 

“ How did she receive it?” 

“She cried very, very much.” 

Both grew silent, and were silent rather long; then 
Marynia said, — 

“J will go and see what is happening to her.” 

After a while she returned. 

“She is sleeping,” said the young lady. ‘‘Praise be to 
God!” 

Indeed, Pan Stanislav did not see Pani Emilia that eyen- 
ing; she had fallen into a kind of lethargic slumber. At 
parting, Marynia pressed his hand again long and vigor- 
ously, and inquired almost with submission, — 

“You do not take it ill of me that I repeated to Pani 
Emilia Litka’s last wish?” 

**At such moments,” answered Pan Stanislay, ‘‘I cannot 
think of myself: for me it is a question only of Pani 
Emilia; and if your words caused her solace, I thank you 
for them.” 

“Till to-morrow, then?” 

“Till to-morrow.” 

Pan Stanislav took farewell, and went out. While 
descending the steps, he thought, — 

“She considers herself my betrothed.” 

And he was not mistaken; Marynia looked on him as 
her betrothed. She had never been indifferent to him; on 
the contrary, the greatness of his offence had been for her 
the measure of that uncommon interest which he had 
roused in her. And though, during Litka’s illness and 
funeral, he could discover in himself unfathomable stores 
of selfishness, he seemed to her so good that she was 
simply unable to compare him with any one.  Litka’s 
words did the rest. In real truth, her heart desired love 
first of all; and now, since before Litka’s death she had 
made her a promise, since she had bound herself to love 
and to marry, it seemed to her that even if she had not 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 179 


loved, it was her duty to command herself, and that she 
was not free at present not to love. Pan Stanislav had 
entered the sphere of her duty; she belonged to those 
straightforward, womanly natures, not at all rare even 
now, tor whom life and duty mean one and the same 
thing, and who for this reason bring good-will to the ful- 
filment of duty, and not only good, but persistent will. 

Such a will brings with it love, which lghts like the 
sun, warms like its heat, and cherishes like the blue, mild 
sky. In this way life does not become a dry, thorny 
path, which pricks, but a flowery one, which blooms and 
delights. This country maiden, straightforward in thought, 
and at once simple and delicate in feelings, possessed that 
capacity for life and happiness in the highest degree. So, 
when Pan Stanislav had gone, she, in thinking about him, 
did not name him in her mind otherwise than “ Pan Stas,” 
for he had indeed become her ‘* Pan Stas.” 

Pan Stanislav, on his part, when lying down to sleep, 
repeated to himself somewhat mechanically, ‘‘She con- 
siders herself my betrothed.” 

Litka’s death, and the events of the last days, had pushed 
Marynia, not only in his thoughts, but in his heart, to 
more remote, and even very remote places. Now he began 
to think of her again, and at the same time of his future. 
All at once he beheld, as it were, a cloud of countless 
questions, to which, at that moment, at least, he had no 
answer. But he felt fear in presence of them; he felt that 
he lacked strength and willingness to undertake this labor. 
Again he began to live with the former life; again to fall 
into that sentimental, vicious circle; again to disquiet 
himself; again to make efforts, and struggle over things 
which bring only bitterness, — to struggle with himself over 
questions of feeling. Would it not be better to labor with 
Bigiel on accounts, — make money, — so as to go sometime, 
like Bukatski, to Italy, or some other place where there is 
sun, art, wine good for the stomach, and, above all, people 
to whom one is indifferent, whose happiness will not en- 
liven the heart of a stranger, but in return whose death 
or misfortune will not press a single tear from him. 


180 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER XX. 


DurinG all the mental struggles through which Pan 
Stanislav had passed, the interests of his commercial house 
were developed favorably. Thanks to Bigiel’s sound judg- 
ment, diligence, and care, current business was transacted 
with a uniform thoroughness which removed every chance 
of dissatisfaction or complaint from the patrons of the 
house. The house gained reputation every day, extended 
its activity slowly and regularly, and was growing rich. 
Pan Stanislav, on his part, labored, not indeed with such 
mental peace as hitherto, but no less than Bigiel. He 
passed the morning hours daily in the office; and the 
greater his mental vexation, the deeper his misunderstand- 
ing with Marynia since her coming to Warsaw, the more 
earnest was his labor. This labor, often difficult, and at 
times requiring even much intense thought, but uncon- 
nected with the question which pained him, and incapable 
of giving any internal solace, became, at last, a kind of 
haven, in which he hid from the storm. Pan Stanislav 
began to love it. “Here, at least, I know what 1 am 
doing, and whither I am tending; here everything is very 
clear. If I do not find happiness, I shall find at least 
that enlargement of life, that freedom, which money gives; 
and all the better for me if I succeed in stopping at that.” 
Recent events had merely confirmed him in those thoughts; 
in fact, nothing but suffering had come to him from his 
feelings. That sowing had yielded a bitter harvest, while 
the only suecesses which he had known, and which in every 
case strengthen and defend one against misfortune, were 
given by that mercantile house. Pan Stanislav thought 
with a certain surprise that this was true; but it was not. 
He himself felt the narrowness of that satisfaction which 
the house could give; but he said to himself at the same 
time, “Since it cannot be otherwise, this must be accepted; 
and it is safer to stop here, for it is better to be only a 
merchant, who succeeds, than a dreamer. who fails in 
everything.” Since Litka’s death, then, he resolved all 
the more to stifle in himself those impulses to which reality 
did not answer, and which had brought him nothing but 
regrets. Evidently Bigiel was pleased with a state of 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 181 


mind in his partner which could bring only profit to the 
house. 

Still Pan Stanislav could not grow wholly indifferent in 
a few weeks to all that with which, on a time, his heart 
had been connected. Hence he went sometimes to visit 
Litka, whose gravestone was covered in the morning with 
white winter frost. Twice he met Pani Emilia and 
Marynia in the cemetery. Once he attended them home 
to the city, and Pani Emilia thanked him for remembering 
the little girl. Pan Stanislav noticed that she did this 
with evident calmness; he understood the cause of this 
calmness when, at parting, she said to him, — 

“‘T keep always in mind now that for her separation 
from me is as short as one twinkle of an eye; and you 
know not what comfort it is to me that at least she is not 
yearning.” 

“Well, what I know not, I know not,” said Pan Stanislav, 
in his soul. Still the deep conviction of Pani Emilia’s 
speech struck him. “If these are illusions,” thought he, 
“they are really life-giving, since they are able to draw 
forth juices for life from the dungeon of the grave.” 

Marynia asserted, besides, in her first conversation with 
Pan Stanislav, that Pani Emilia lived only through that 
thought, which alone softened her grief. For whole days 
she mentioned nothing else, and said, with such persist- 
ence, that from God’s point of view death is separation for 
one twinkle of an eye, that she began to alarm Marynia. 

“She talks, too, of Litka,” said Marynia, in conclusion, 
“as if the child had not died, and as if she should see her 
to-morrow.” 

“That is happy,” answered Pan Stanislav.“ Vaskovski 
rendered tangible service; such a nail in the head gives 
no pain.” 

“Still, she is right, for it is so.” 

“T will not contradict you.” 

Marynia was alarmed, it is true, by the persistence with 
which Pani Emilia returned to one thought; but on the 
other hand she. herself did not look on death otherwise. 
Hence that tinge of scepticism, evident in Pan Stanislav’s 
words, touched her a little, and pained her; but, not wish- 
ing to let this be evident, she changed the conversation. 

“T gave directions to enlarge Litka’s photograph,” said 
she. ‘Yesterday they brought me three copies; one [ will 
give Emilia. I feared at first that it would excite her too 


182 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


much, but now I see that I may give it; nay, more, it will 
be very dear to her.” 

She rose then, and went to a bookcase on which were 
some photographs in a wrapper; these she took, and, sit- 
ting at Pan Stanislav’s side before a small table, opened 
them. 

‘Emilia told me of a certain talk which you had with 
Litka a short time before her death, when the child wished 
you three to be birches growing near one another. Do you 
remember that talk?” 

“T do. lLitka wondered that trees live so long; she 
thought awhile what kind of tree she would like tu be, and 
the birch pleased her most.” 

“True; and you said that you would like to grow near 
by, therefore, around these photographs I wish to paint 
birches on a passe-partout. Here I have begun, you 
see, but I have no great success. I cannot paint from 
memory.” 

Then she took one of the photographs, and showed Pan 
Stanislav the birches painted in water-colors; but since 
she was a little near-sighted, she bent over her work, so 
that her temple for one moment was near Pan Stanislav’s 
face. She was no longer that Marynia of whom he had 
dreamed when returning evenings from Pani Emilia’s, and 
who at that time had filled his whole soul for him. That 
period had passed: his thoughts had gone in another diree- 
tion; but Marynia had not ceased to be that type of woman 
which produced on his masculine nerves an impression 
exceptionally vivid; and now, when her temple almost 
touched his own, when, with one glance of the eye, he took 
in her face, her cheeks slightly colored, and her form bent 
over the picture, he felt the old attraction with its former 
intensity, and the quick blood sent equally quick thoughts 
to his brain. “Were I to kiss her eyes and mouth now,” 
thought he, “I am curious to know what she would do; ” 
and in a twinkle the desire seized him to do so, even were 
he to offend Marynia mortally. In return for long rejec- 
tion, for so much fear and suffering, he would like such 
a moment of recompense, and of revenge, perhaps, with 
it. Meanwhile, Marynia, while examining the painting, 
continued, — 

“This seems worse to-day than yesterday; unfortunately 
trees have no leaves now, and I cannot find a model.” 

‘*The group is not bad at all,” said Pan Stanislav; “but 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL, 183 


if these trees are to represent Pani Emilia, Litka, and me, 
why have you painted four birches? ” 

“The fourth represents me,” said Marynia, with a cer- 
tain timidity; “I, too, have a wish sometimes to grow 
with you.” 

Pan Stanislav looked at her quickly; and she, wrapping 
the photographs up again, said, as it were, hurriedly, — © 

“So many things are connected in my mind with the 
memory of that child. During her last days I was with 
her and Emilia almost continually. At present Emilia is 
one of the nearest persons on earth to me. I belong to 
them as well as you do; I know not clearly how to explain 
this. There were four of us, and now there are three, 
bound together by Litka, for she bound us. When I think 
of her now, I think also of Emilia and of you. This is 
why I decided to paint the four birches; and you see there 
are three photographs, — one for Emilia, one for me, and 
one for you.” 

“T thank you,” said Pan Stanislav, extending his hand 
to her. Marynia returned the pressure very cordially, and 
said, — 

“ For the sake of her memory, too, we should forget all 
our former resentments.” 

“This has happened already,” answered Pan Stanislav; 
“and as for me, I wish that it had happened long before 
Litka’s death.” 

“My fault began then; for this I beg forgiveness,” and 
she extended her hand to him. 

Pan Stanislav hesitated awhile whether to raise it to his 
lips ; but he did not raise it, he only said, — 

“ Now there is agreement.” 

“ And friendship ? ” asked Marynia. 

“ And friendship.” 

In her eyes a deep, quiet joy was reflected, which 
enlivened her whole face with a mild radiance. There 
was in her at the moment so much kindness and trustful- 
ness that she reminded Pan Stanislav of that first Marynia 
whom he had seen at Kremen when she was sitting on the 
garden veranda in the rays of the setting sun. But since 
Litka’s death he had been in such a frame of mind that he 
considered remembrances like that as unworthy of him ; 
hence he rose and began to take leave. 

“Will you not remain the whole evening?” asked 
Marynia. 


184 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“No, I must return.” 

“T will tell Emilia that you are going,” said she, ap- 
proaching the door of the adjoining room. 

“ She is either thinking of Litka at present, or is praying ; 
otherwise she would have come of herself. Better not 
interrupt her; I will come to-morrow in any case.” 

Marynia approached hin, and, looking into his eyes, said 
with great cordiality, “To-morrow and every day. Is it 
not true? Remember that you are ‘ Pan Stas’ for us now.” 

Since Litka’s death Marynia had named him thus for the 
second time, so in going home he thought, “ Her relations to 
me are changed thoroughly. She feels herself simply as 
belonging to me, for she bound herself to that by the 
promise given the dying child; she is ready even to fall 
in love with me, and will not permit herself not to love. 
With us there are such women by the dozen.” And all at 
once he fell into anger. 

“TI know those fish natures with cold hearts, but senti- 
mental heads filled with so-called principles, — everything 
for principle, everything for duty, nothing spontaneous in the 
heart. I might sigh out my last breath at her feet and gain 
nothing; but when duty commands her to love me, she will 
love even really.” 

Evidently Pan Stanislav in his wanderings abroad had 
grown used to another kind of women, or at least he had 
read of them in books. But since with all this he had a 
little sound judgment too, that judgment began to speak 
thus to him, — 

“Listen, Polanyetski,” it said. “These are exceptional 
natures because they are uncommonly reliable: on them one 
may build; on them a life may be founded. Art thou mad ? 
With thee it was a question of finding a wife, not an ephem- 
eral love affair.” 

But Pan Stanislav did not cease to resist, and he answered 
his judgment, “If I am to be loved, I want to be loved for 
my own sake.” 

Judgment tried once more to explain that it was all one 
how love began; since later on he could be loved only for 
his own sake, that in the present case, after his recent efforts 
and vexations, it was almost miraculous, almost providential, 
that something natural had intervened in a way to break 
resistance immediately; but Pan Stanislav did not cease 
from being furious. At last judgment was strengthened by 
that attraction and pleasure which he found in Marynia, 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 185 


by virtue of which he saw in her more charms than in any 
other woman; this attraction spoke in its turn, 

“T do not know if thou love her, and I care not; but 
to-day, when her arm and face approached thee, thou wert 
near jumping out of thy skin. Why is it that such ashiver 
does not pass through thee when thou art near another ? 
Think what a difference in that.” 

But to everything Pan Stanislav answered: “A fish, a 
duty-bound fish.” And again the thought came to him, 
“Catch her, if thou prefer that to any other kind. People 
marry ; and for thee, it is time. What more dost thou want, 
is it a kind of love which thou wouldst be the first to laugh 
into ridicule? Thy love has died out. Suppose it has; but 
the attraction remains, and the conviction, too, that this 
woman is reliable and honest.” 

“True,” thought he further, “but from love, whether 
stupid or wise, comes choice, and have I that at present ? 
No, for I hesitate, while formerly I did not hesitate ; second, 
I ought to decide which is better, — Panna Plavitski, or debit 
and credit in the house of Bigiel and Polanyetski. Money 
gives power and freedom ; the best use is made of freedom 
when a manearries no one in his heart or on his shoulders.” 
Thus meditating, he reached home, and lay down to sleep. 
During the night he dreamed of birches on sand hills, calm 
blue eyes, anda forehead shaded with dark hair, from which 
warmth was beating. 





186 CHILDREN OF THE-SOIL. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


Some mornings later, before Pan Stanislav had gone to 
his office, Mashko appeared. 

“T come to thee on two affairs,” said he, “but I will 
begin with money, so as to leave thee freedom of action ; 
shall I, or not?” 

“My dear friend, I attend to money questions in my office, 
so begin with the other.” 

“The money matter is not a question of thy house, but 
a private one; for this reason I prefer to speak of it 
privately. I am going to marry, as thou knowest; I need 
money. Ihave to make payments as numerous as the hairs 
on my head, and the wherewithal does not correspond. 
The term is near to pay the first instalment of my debt to 
thee for the claim on Kremen; canst thou extend the time 
another quarter ?” 

“J will be frank,” replied Pan Stanislav ; “I can, but I 
am unwilling to do so.” 

“Well, I will be equally sincere, and ask what thou wilt 
do in case I fail to pay.” 

“The like happens in the world,” answered Pan Stanislav; 
“but this time thou art looking on me as simpler than I 
am, for I know that thou wilt pay.” 

“Whence is that certainty?” 

“Thou art going to marry, and marry a fortune; how 
expose thyself to the evil fame of bankruptcy? Thou wilt 
squeeze money from under the earth, perhaps, but thou 
wilt pay.” 

“Even Solomon could not pour out of the empty.” 

“Because he did not take lessons from thee. My dear 
friend, no one is listening to us, so I may say that all thy 
life thou hast been doing nothing else.” 

“Then thou art sure that I will pay thee?” 

“Tam.” 

“Thou art right; I wanted of thee a favor to which I 
have no claim. But even I feel wearied at last of all this, 
—to take something here and thrust it in there; to live 
eternally in such a whirl passes human power in the long 
run. I am sailing, as it were, into the harbor. In two 


CHILDREN OF THE SOLL. 187 


months I shall be on a new footing, but meanwhile I am 
using the last of my steam; ’tis not in thy way to oblige 
me; the position is difficult. There is a small forest in 
Kremen; I will cut that and pay, since there is no other 
way.” 

“What forests are there in Kremen? Old Plavitski 
shaved off everything that could be taken.” 

“There is a large oak grove behind the house, toward 
Nedzyalkov.” 

“True, there is.” 

‘*T know that thou and Bigiel take up such affairs. Buy 
that forest; it will spare me the search for a purchaser, 
and he and thou can come out of the business with profit.” 

“T will discuss it with Bigiel.” 

“Then thou wilt not refuse in advance?” 

“No; if thou give it cheaply, I may even take the forest 
myself. But in such matters I need to calculate the pos- 
sible profits or losses; I want also to know thy terms. 
Make thy own estimates. Send me thy list; how many 
trees there are, and what kinds.” 

**T will send it in an hour.” 

‘**In that case I will give thee an answer in the evening.” 

**T advise thee beforehand of one thing, —thou wilt not 
have the right to cut oak for two months.” 

“Why is that?” 

“Because Kremen will lose greatly by losing that orna- 
ment; hence I propose that it be resold to me after the 
marriage, of course at a good profit to thee.” 

‘*We shall see.” 

“Besides, | have marl in Kremen; thou hast spoken to 
me of this. Plavitski reckoned it at millions, —that, of 
course, 1S nonsense; but in the hands of clever men it 
might be made a paying business. Think that over, too, 
with Bigiel; I would take thee into partnership.” 

“Should the business seem good, we may take it; our 
house exists to gain profit.” 

“Then we will talk of the marl later on; but now I 
return to the oak. Let the general outline of our bargain 
be this, —that I, instead of the first payment, give thee 
the oak grove, or a part of it, according to estimate. I 
give it in some sense in pledge, and thou art obliged not to 
cut trees before the close of the following quarter.” 

‘“‘T can do that: evidently there will be questions later 
on as to removal of the oak, which we shall mention when 
writing the contract, if, in general, we write one.” 


188 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“Then there is at least one burden off my head,” said 
Mashko, rubbing his forehead with his hand. “ Imagine 
that I have ten or fifteen such every day, not counting 
conversations on business with Pani Kraslavski, which are 
more wearying than all else, and then waiting on my 
betrothed, who” —here Mashko interrupted himself for a 
moment, but suddenly waved his hand, and added —** which 
also is not easy.” 

Pan Stanislav looked at him with amazement. On the 
lips of Mashko, who, in every word, followed society 
observances so closely, this was something unheard of. 
Mashko, however, spoke on, — 

“But let that pass; thou knowest how near we were to 
quarrelling before Litka’s death. I had not in mind thy 
great love for that little maiden; I forgot that thou wert 
disturbed and annoyed. I acted rudely; the fault was on 
my side entirely, and I beg thy pardon.” 

“That is a forgotten affair,” said Pan Stanislav. 

“JT revive it because I have a service to beg of thee. 
The affair is of this kind: I have not friends, blood rela- 
tives; I have n’t them, or if I have, it is not worth while 
to exhibit them. Now, I must find groomsmen, and, in 
truth, I do not know well where to look for them. I have 
managed the business of various young lords, as thou 
knowest; but to ask the first young fellow whom I meet, 
because he has a title, does not beseem me, and I am un- 
willing to do so. With me it is a question of having 
groomsmen who are people of position, and, I tell thee 
openly, with prominent names. Those ladies, too, attach 
great importance to this matter. Wilt thou be a grooms- 
man for me?” 

“Tn other circumstances I would not refuse; but I will 
tell thee how it is. Look at me: I have no erape on my 
hat nor white tape on my coat, therefore I am not in 
mourning; but I give thee my word that I am in deeper | 
mourning than if my own child were dead.” 

‘*That is true; I had not thought of that,” said Mashko. 
‘**T beg thy pardon.” 

These words impressed Pan Stanislav. 

“But if this is very important; if, in truth, thou art 
unable to find another, — let it be according to thy wish; 
but I say sincerely that for me, after such a funeral, it 
will be difficult to assist at a wedding.” 

Pan Stanislav did not say, it is true, at such a wedding, 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 189 


but Mashko divined his thought. ‘*There is another cir- 
cumstance, too,” continued he. “Thou must have heard 
of a certain poor little doctor, who fell in love to the death 
with thy betrothed. She was free not to return his love, 
no man will reproach her for that; but he, poor fellow, 
went his way somewhere to the land where pepper grows, 
and the deuce took him. Dost understand? I was in 
friendship with that doctor; he confided his misfortune to 
me, and wept out his secret. Dost understand? In these 
conditions to be groomsman for another — say thyself.” 

**And did that man really die of love for my betrothed?” 

“But hast thou not heard of it?” 

“Not only have I not heard, but I cannot believe my 
own ears.” 

“Knowest thou what, Mashko, marriage changes a man; 
but I see that betrothal does also, —I do not recognize thee 
simply.” 

“Because, as I have said, I am so weary that breath fails 
me, and at such times the mask falls.” 

“What dost thou mean by that?” 

“J mean that there are two kinds of people, — one, of 
people who never limit themselves by anything, and arrange 
their modes of action according to every circumstance; the 
other, of people having a certain system which they hold 
to with more or less sequence. I belong to the second. I 
am accustomed to observe appearances, and, what is more, 
accustomed so long that at last it has become a second 
nature tome. But, for example, when travelling in time 
of great heat, a moment may come on the man who is most 
comme il faut, when he will unbutton not only his coat, 
but his shirt; such a moment has come on me, therefore I 
unbutton.” 

‘“*This means? —’ 

“Tt means that I am transfixed with astonishment that 
any man could fall in love to the death with my betrothed, 
who is, as thou on a time didst give me to understand, 
cold, formal, and as mechanical in words, thoughts, and 
movements as if wound up with a key; that is pertectly 
true, and I confirm it. Ido not wish thee to hold me for 
a greater wretch than I am; I do not love her, and my 
wife will be as formal as my betrothed. I loved Panna 
Plavitski, who rejected me. Panna Kraslavski I take for 
her property. Call this iniquity, if it suit thee to do so; 
I will answer that such iniquity has been committed, or 


? 


190 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


will be committed, by thousands among those so-called 
honorable people, to whom thou art ready to give thy 
hand. Moreover, life does not flow on in delight for people 
thus married, but also not in tragedy; they limp, but go 
forward. Later on they are aided by years spent together, 
which bring a species of attachment, by children who are 
born to them; and they get on in some fashion. Such are 
most marriages, for the majority choose to walk on the 
earth, rather than scale summits. Sometimes there are even 
worse marriages: when a woman wishes to fly, and a man 
to creep, or vice versa, there is no chance for an under- 
standing. As to me, I have worked like an ox. Coming 
from a reduced family, I wished to gain distinction, I con- 
fess. If I had consented to remain an obscure attorney, 
and acquire merely money, perhaps I should have unlocked 
and thrown open to my son the door to light; but I have 
no love for my children before they come into the world, 
hence I wished not only to have money myself, but to be 
somebody, to mean something, to occupy a position, to 
have such weight as with us it is possible to have, at least 
in society. From this it has happened that what the 
advocate gained, the great lord expended; position obliges. 
This is why I have not money. Struggling of this sort 
has weavied me. Opening holes in one place to fill them in 
another, — for this reason | marry Panna Kraslavski; who 
again marries me for the reason that, if I am not really a 
great lord, amusing himself in the legal career, I am so 
apparently. The match is even; there is no injustice to 
any one, and neither has tricked the other, or, if it please 
thee, we have tricked each other equally. Here is the 
whole truth for thee; now despise me if thou wish.” 

“As God lives, I have never respected thee more,” 
answered Pan Stanislav; ‘tfor now I admire not thy sin- 
cerity merely, but also thy courage.” 

‘“*T accept the compliment because thou art candid; but 
in what dost thou see courage?” 

‘In this, —that having so few illusions as to Panna 
Kraslavski, thou art going to marry her.” 

“T marry her because I am more wise than foolish. I 
looked for money, it is true; but thinkest thou that for 
money I would marry the first woman I met who possessed 
it? By no means, my dear friend. I take Panna Kra- 
slavski, and I know what I am doing. She has her great 
qualities, indispensable under the circumstances in which 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 191 


I take her, and in which she marries me. She will bea 
cold, unagreeable wife, sour, and even contemptuous, in so 
far as she does not fear me; but, on the other hand, Panna 
Kraslavski, as wellas her mother, has a religious respect for 
appearances, — for what is fitting, or, speaking generally, 
for what is polite. ‘This is one point. Further, there is 
not even one germ in her from which love intrigues could 
grow; and lite with her, be it disagreeable as it may, will 
never end in scandal. This is the second. ‘Third, she is 
pedantic in everything, as well in religion as in fulfilment 
of all the duties which she may take on herself. This is, 
indeed, a great quality. I shall not be happy with her, 
but I can be at peace; and who knows if this is not the 
maximum possible to ask of life, and I tell thee, my dear 
friend, that when a man takes a wife he should think 
before all of future peace. In a mistress seek what pleases 
thee, — wit, temperament, a poetical form of sensitiveness. 
But with a wife one must live years; seek in her that on 
which one can rely, — seek principles.” 

“T have never thought thee a fool,” said Pan Stanislav; 
“but I see that thou hast more wit than I suspected.” 

‘Our women — take those, for example, of the money 
world —are formed really on the French novel; and what 
comes of that is known to thee.” 

“More or less; but to-day thou art so eloquent that I 
listen to thy description with pleasure.” 

“Well, a woman becomes her own God and her own 
measure of right.” 

**And for her husband? ” 

“A chameleon and a tragedy.” 

“This happens a little in the world of much money and 
no traditions; there everything is appearance and toilet, 
beneath which sits not a soul, but a more or less exquisite 
wild beast. And this wealthy and elegant world, amusing 
itself, and permeated with artistic, literary, and even 
religious dilettantism, wields the baton and directs the 
orchestra.” 

“Not yet with us.” 

“Not yet altogether. For that matter, there are excep- 
tions, even in the society mentioned; all the more must 
there be outside it. Yes, there are women of another 
kind among us, —for instance, Panna Plavitski. Oh, 
what security, and withal what a charm of life, with a 
woman like her! Unhappily, she is not for me.” 





192 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


‘“Mashko, I was ready to recognize in thee cleverness, 
but I did not know thee to have enthusiasm.” 

*“What’s to be done? I was in love with her, but now 
I am going to marry Panna Kraslavski.” 

Mashko pronounced the last words, as if in anger, then 
followed a moment of silence. 

* Then thou wilt not be my groomsman?” 

“Give me time to consider.” : 

“In three days I am going away.” 

‘**To what place?” 

“To St. Petersburg. I have business there; I will stay 
about two weeks.” 

“JT will give my answer on thy return.” 

“Very well; to-day I will send thee the estimate of my 
oak in three sizes. ‘To save the instalment! ” 

“ And the conditions on which I will buy it.” 

Here Mashko took leave and went out. Pan Stanislav 
hastened to his office. After a conversation with Bigiel, 
he decided, if the affair should seem practicable and profit- 
able, to buy the oak alone. He could not account to him- 
self why he felt a certain wonderful desire to be connected 
with Kremen. After business hours he thought also of 
what Mashko had said of Panna Plavitski. He felt that the 
man had told the truth, and that, with a woman of this 
kind, life might be not only safe and peaceful, but full of 
charm; he noticed, however, that in those meditations he 
rendered justice rather to the type of which Marynia was 
a specimen, than to Marynia in person. He observed also 
in himself a thousand inconsistencies: he saw that he felt 
a certain repugnance, and even anger, at the thought of 
loving any one or anything, or letting his heart go into 
bonds and knots, usually fastened so firmly that they were 
painful. At the very thought of this he was enraged, and 
repeated in spirit, “I will not; I have had enough of this! 
It is an unwholesome exuberance, which leads people 
only to errors and suffering.” At the same time he took 
it ill,—for example, that she did not love him with a 
certain exuberant and absolute love, and opened her heart 
to him only when duty commanded. Afterward, when he 
did not want love, he was astonished that it began to pall 
on him so easily, and that he desired Marynia far more 
when she was opposed, than now, when she was altogether 
inclined to him. 

“All leads to this at last,” thought he: “that man him- 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 193 


self does not know what he wants, or what he must hold 
to; that is his position. May a thunderbolt spht it! 
Panna Plavitski has more good qualities than she herself 
suspects. She is dutiful, just, calm, attractive; my 
thoughts draw me toward her; and still I feel that Panna 
Plavitski is not for me what she once was, and that the 
devils have taken something that was in me. but what 
is it? As to the capacity for loving,” continued Pan 
Stanislav, in his monologue, ‘‘Il have come to the conclu- 
sion that loving is most frequently folly, and loving too 
much folly at all times; hence I should now be content, 
but I am not.” 

After a while it came to his mind that this was merely 
a species of weakness, —such, for example, as follows an 
operation in surgery, or an illness that a man has passed 
through, —and that positive life will fill out in time that 
void which he feels. For him positive life was his mer- 
ecantile house. When he went to dine, he found Vaskovski 
and two servants, who winked at each other when they 
saw how the old man at times held motionless an uplifted 
fork with a morsel of meat on it, and fell to thinking of 
death, or talking to himself. Professor Vaskovski had for 
some time been holding these monologues, and spoke to 
himself on the street so distinctly that people looked 
around at him. His blue eyes were turned on Pan Stan- 
islav for a while vacantly; then he roused himself, as if 
from sleep, and finished the thought which had risen in 
his head. ‘‘She says that this will bring her near the 
child.” 

“Who says?” inquired Pan Stanislav. 

“Pani Emilia.” 

“How will she be nearer?” 

“She wants to become a Sister of Charity.” 

Pan Stanislav grew silent under the impression of that 
news. He was able to meditate over that which passed 
through his head, to expel feeling, to philosophize on the 
unwholesome excesses of the society in which he lived; 
but in his soul he had two sacred images ,— Litka and Pani 
Emilia. Litka had become simply a cherished memory, 
but he loved Pani Emilia with a living, brotherly, and 
most tender affection, which he never touched in his medi- 
tations. So fora time he could not find speech; then he 
looked sternly at Vaskovski, and said, — 

“Professor, thou art persuading her to this. I do not 

13 


194 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


enter into thy mysticism and ideas from beneath a dark 
star, but know this, —that thou wilt take her life on thy 
conscience; for she has not the strength to be a Sister of 
Charity, and will die in a year.” 

“ My dear friend,” answered Vaskoyski, “thou hast con- 
demned me unjustly without a hearing. Hast thou stopped 
to consider what the expression ‘ just man’ means?” 

“When it is a question of one dear to me, I jeer at 
expressions.’ 

“She told me yesterday of this, most unexpectedly, and 
I asked, ‘ But, my child, will you have the strength? 
That is arduous labor.’ She smiled at me, and said: ‘ Do 
not refuse me, for this is my refuge, my happiness. Should 
it seem that I have not strength enough, they will not 
receive me; but if they receive me, and my strength fails 
afterward, I shall go sooner to Litka, and I am yearning 
so much for her.” What had I to answer to such a choice, 
and such simplicity? What art thou able to say, even 
thou, who art without belief? Wouldst thou have courage 
to say: ‘ Perhaps Litka is not in existence; a life in labor, 
in charity, in sacrifice, and death in Christ, may not lead to 
Litka at all’? Invent another consolation; but what wilt 
thou invent? Give her another hope, heal her with some- 
thing else; but with what wilt thou heal her? Besides, 
thon wilt see her thyself; speak to her sincerely. Wilt 
thou have courage to dissuade her?” 

* No,” answered Pan Stanislav, briefly ; and after a while 
he added, ‘‘ Only suffering on all sides.” 

“One thing might be possible,” continued Vaskovski. 
“To choose instead of Sisters of Charity, whose work is be- 
yond her strength, some contemplative order; there are 
those in whom the poor human atom is so dissolved in God 
that it ceases to lead an individual existence, and ceases to 
suffer.” 

Pan Stanislav waved his hand. “I do not understand 
these things,” said he, dryly, “and I do not look into them.” 

“JT have here somewhere a little Italian book on the 
Ladies of Nazareth,” said Vaskovski, opening his coat. 
“Where did I put it? When going out, I stuck it 
somewhere.” 

“ What can the Ladies of Nazareth be to me?” 

But Vaskovski, after unbuttoning his coat, unbuttoned 
his shirt in searching; then he thought a while and said, 
“ What am I looking for ? I know that little Italian book. In 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 195 


a couple of days I am going to Rome for a long, very long 
time. Remember what I said, that Rome is the antecham- 
ber to another world. It is time for me to go to God’s 
antechamber. I would persuade Emilia greatly to go to 
Rome, but she will not leave her child; she will remain here 
as a Sister of Charity. Maybe, however, the order of Naza- 
reth would please her; it is as simple and mild as was 
primitive Christianity. Not with the head, my dear, for 
there they know better what to do, but with the heart, 
childlike but loving.” 

* Button thy shirt, professor,” said Pan Stanislav. 

**Very good; I will button it. I have something at my 
heart, and I would tell it thee ; thou art as mobile as water, 
but thou hast a soul. Seest thou, Christianity not only is 
not coming to an end, as some philosophizing, giddy heads 
imagine, but it has only made half its way.” 

“Dear professor,’ said Pan Stanislav, mildly, “TI will 
listen to what thou hast to tell me willingly and patiently, 
but not to-day; for to-day I am thinking only of Pani 
Emilia, and there is simply a squeezing at my throat. This 
is a catastrophe.” 

“Not for her, since her life will be a success, and her 
death also.” 

Pan Stanislav began to mutter, ‘“ As God lives, not only 
every mightier feeling, but simple friendship, ends in regret ; 
never has any attachment brought me a thing except suffer- 
ing. Bukatski is right: from general attachments there is 
nothing but suffering, from personal attachments nothing but 
suffering ; and now live, man, in the world so surrounded.” 

The conversation broke off, or rather was turned into the 
monologue of Professor Vaskovski, who began a discourse 
with himself about Rome and Christianity. After dinner 
they went out on the street, which was full of the sound of 
sleighbells and the gladsome winter movement. Though in 
the morning of that day snow had fallen in sufficient abun- 
dance, toward evening the weather had become fair, calm, 
and frosty. 

“ But, professor, button thy shirt.” 

“ Very well; I will button it,” answered Vaskovski; and 
he began to draw the holes of his vest to the buttons of his 
frockcoat. 

“ Still I like that Vaskovski,” said Pan Stanislav, to him- 
self, when on the way home. “If I were to grow attached to 
him for good, the deuce would take him surely, for such is 


196 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


my fate. Fortunately I am insensible enough to him so 
far.’ And thus he persuaded himself untruly, for he had a 
sincere friendship for Vaskovski, and the man’s fate was 
not indifferent in the least to him. When he reached home, 
Litka’s face smiled at him from a large photograph as he 
entered; this had been sent by Marynia during his absence, 
and moved Pan Stanislav to the depth of his soul. He ex- 
perienced, moreover, this species of emotion whenever he 
remembered Litka on a sudden, or saw unexpectedly one of 
her portraits. He thought then, that love for the child, 
hidden away somewhere in the depth of his heart, rose 
suddenly with its previous vividness and power, penetrating 
his whole being with indescribable tenderness and sorrow. 
This revival of sorrow was even so painful that he avoided 
it as a man avoids a real suffering usually. This time, 
however, there was something sweet in his emotion. Litka 
was smiling at him by the light of the lamp, as if she 
wished to say “Pan Stas;” around her head on the white 
margin of the picture were four green birches. Pan Stan- 
islav stopped and looked for a long time; at last he thought, 
“T know in what may be the happiness of life, in children! ” 
But he said to himself a few moments later, “I never shall 
love my own as I loved that poor child.” The servant 
entered now and gave him a letter from Marynia, which 
came with the photograph. She wrote as follows :— 


“My father asks me to pray you to spend the evening with us. 
Emilia has moved to her own house, and receives no visits to-day. 
I send you Litka’s photograph, and beg you to come without fail. I 
wish to speak with you of Emilia. Papa has invited Pan Bigiel, who 
has promised to come; therefore you and I can talk quietly.” 


Pan Stanislav, after reading the letter, dressed, read a 
certain time, then went to the Plavitskis’. Bigiel had been 
there a quarter of an hour, and was playing piquet with 
Plavitski; Marynia was sitting at some distance, by a small 
table, occupied in work of some kind. After he had greeted 
all; Pan Stanislav sat near her, — 

“JT thank you most earnestly for the photograph,” began 
he. “TI saw it unexpectedly, and Litka stood before my eyes 
in such form that I could not control myself. Moments 
like that are the measure of sorrow, of which a man cannot 
even give account to himself. I thank you most earnestly, 
and for the four birches too. Touching Pani Emilia, I 
know everything from Vaskovski. Is this merely a project, 
or a fixed resolve ?”’ 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 197 


«“ Rather a fixed resolve,” answered Marynia; “and what 
do you think ? ” 

Marynia raised her eyes to him as if waiting for some 
counsel. 

“She has not strength for it,” said she, finally. 

Pan Stanislav was silent a while; then he opened his 
arms helplessly, and said, — 

“T have talked about this with Vaskovski. I attacked 
him, since I thought that the idea was his; but he swore to 
me that he had nothing to do with it. He asked then 
what other consolation I could think out for her, and I 
could give him no answer. What in life has remained to 
her really?” 

“What?” returned Marynia, in a low voice. 

“Do I not understand, think you, whence that resolve 
came? She does not wish to violate her religious principles 
in any way, but she wants to die as soon as possible; she 
knows that those duties are beyond her strength, and 
therefore she assumes them.” 

“True,” answered Marynia; and she inclined her face so 
closely to her work that Pan Stanislav saw only the part- 
ing of the dark hair on her small head. Before her stood 
a box full of pearls, which she was sewing on to various 
articles to be used in a lottery for benevolent purposes; 
and tears, which were flowing from her eyes, began to drop 
on those pearls. 

“T see that you are weeping,” said Pan Stanislav. 

She raised tearful eyes to him, as if to say, “Before 
thee I shall not hide tears,” and answered, “I know that 
Emilia is doing well, but such a pity —” 

Pan Stanislav, partly from emotion, and partly because 
he knew not himself what to answer, kissed her hand for 
the first time. 

Pearls began then to drop more thickly from Marynia’s 
eyes, so that she had to rise and go out. Pan Stanislav 
approached the players, as Plavitski was saying in a sour, 
outspoken tone, to his partner, — 

‘Rubicon after Rubicon. Ha! it is difficult. You 
represent new times, and I old traditions. I must be 
beaten.” 

“What has that to do with piquet?” asked Bigiel, 
calmly. 

Marynia returned soon, with the announcement that tea 
was ready; her eyes were somewhat red, but her face was 


198 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


clear and calm. When, a little later, Bigiel and Plavitski 
sat down at cards again, she conversed with Pan Stanislav 
in that quiet, confiding tone which people use who are very 
near to each other, and who have many mutual relations. 
lt is true that those mutual relations between them had 
been created by the death of Litka and the misfortune of 
Pani Emilia, —hence the conversation could not be glad- 
some; but in spite of that, Marynia’s eyes, if not her lips, 
smiled at Pan Stanislav, and were at once thoughtful and 
clear. 

Later in the evening, after his departure, Marynia did 
not name him in her mind, when she thought of him, other- 
wise, than “ Pan Stas.” 

Pan Stanislav, on his part, returned home feeling calmer 
by far than he had since Litka’s death. While pacing his 
chamber, he made frequent halts before the little girl’s 
photograph, and looked, too, at the four birches painted 
by Marynia. He thought that the bond fastened between 
him and Marynia by Litka was becoming closer each day, 
as if without any one’s will, and simply by some mysterious 
force of things. He thought, too, that if he lacked the 
former original desire to make that bond permanent, his 
courage would almost fail to cut it decisively, especially 
so soon after Litka’s death. Late in the night he sat down 
to the lists sent by Mashko. At times, however, he made 
mistakes in the reckoning, for he saw before him Marynia’s 
head inclining forward, and her tears falling on the box of 
pearls. ; 

Next morning he bought the oak in Kremen, very profit- 
ably, for that matter. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 199 


CHAPTER XXII. 


Masuko returned in two weeks from St. Petersburg, well 
pleased with his arrangements for credit, and bringing 
important news, which had come to him, as he stated, in 
a way purely contidential,—news not known yet to any 
man. ‘The preceding harvest had been very poor through- 
out the whole empire; here and there hunger had begun 
to appear. It was easy to divine, therefore, that, before 
spring, supplies would be gone in whole neighborhoods, 
and that the catastrophe of hunger might become uni- 
versal. Inview of this, people of the inner circle began to 
whisper about the chance of stopping the grain export; and 
this kind of echo Mashko brought back, with the assurance 
that it came to his ears through people extremely well 
versed in affairs. This news struck Pan Stanislav so 
vividly that he shut himself in for some days, pencil in 
hand; then he hurried to Bigiel with the proposition that 
the ready money at command of the house, as well as its 
credit, should be turned to prompt purchases of grain. 
Bigiel was afraid, but he began by being afraid of every 
new enterprise. Pan Stanislav did not conceal from him 
that this would be a large operation, on the success or 
failure of which their fate might depend. Complete 
failure, however, was little likely, and success might make 
them really rich at one sweep. It was to be foreseen that, 
in view of the lack of grain, prices would rise in every 
event. It was also to be foreseen that the law would 
limit the possibility of making new contracts with foreign 
merchants, but would respect contracts made before its 
promulgation; but even if it failed in this regard, the rise 
of prices in the country itself was a thing almost certain. 
Pan Stanislav had foreseen and caleulated everything, in 
so far as man could; and Bigiel, who, in spite of his 
caution, was a person of judgment, was forced to confess 
that the chances of success were really considerable, and 
that it would be a pity to miss the opportunity. 

In fact, after a number of new consultations, during 
which Bigiel’s opposition grew weaker and weaker, they 
decided on that which Pan Stanislav wished; and after a 


200 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


certain time their chief agent, Abdulski, went out with 
power to make contracts in the name of the house, as well 
for grain on hand as for grain not threshed yet. 

After Abdulski’s departure, Bigiel went to Prussia. Pan 
Stanislav remained alone at the head of the house, toiled 
from morning till evening, and made scarcely a visit. But 
time did not drag, for he was roused by hope of great profit 
and a future of fuller activity. 

Pan Stanislav, in throwing himself into that specula- 
tion, and drawing in Bigiel, did so, first of all, because he 
thought it good; but he had another thought, too, — the 
mercantile house with all its affairs was too narrow a field 
for his special training, abilities, and energies, and Pan 
Stanislav felt this. Finally, what was the question in 
affairs handled by the house? To buy cheap, sell dear, 
and put the profit in a safe; that was its one object. Pur- 
chases direct, or through another, —nothing more. Pan 
Stanislav felt confined in those limits. “I should like to 
dig up something, or make something,” said he to Bigiel, 
in moments of dissatisfaction and distaste; ‘tat the root of 
the matter we are simply trying to direct to our own 
pockets some current from that stream of money which is 
flowing in the business of men, but we produce nothing.” 

And that was true. Pan Stanislav wished to advance to 
property, to acquire capital, and then undertake some very 
large work, giving a wider field for labor and creativeness. 

The opportunity had come, as it seemed to him; hence 
he grasped with both hands at it. ‘‘I will think of other 
things afterward,” thought he. 

By “other things,” he meant his affairs of mind and 
heart, —that is, his relations to religion, people, country, 
woman. He understood that to be at rest in life one must 
explain these relations, and stand on firm feet. There are 
men who all their lives do not know their position with 
reference to these principles, and whom every wind turns 
toward a new point. Pan Stanislav felt that a man should 
not live thus. In his state of mind, as it then was, he saw 
that these questions might be decided in a manner direct 
to dryness, as well as positive to materialism, and in 
general negatively; but he understood that they must be 
decided. 

“T wish to know clearly whether I am bound to some- 
thing or not,” thought he. 

Meanwhile he labored, and saw people little; he could 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 201 


-not withdraw from them altogether. He convinced him- 
self, also, that questions most intimately personal can- 
not be decided otherwise than internally, otherwise than 
by one’s own brain or heart, within the four walls of 
the body; but that most frequently certain external influ- 
ences, certain people, near or distant, hasten the end of 
meditation, and the decisions flowing from it. This 
happened at his farewell with Pani Emilia, who was now 
shortening daily, and almost feverishly, the time before 
her entrance on her novitiate with the Sisters of Charity. 

Amid all his occupations, Pan Stanislav did not cease to 
visit her; but a number of times he failed to find her at 
home. Once he met Pani Bigiel at her house, and also 
Pani and Panna Kraslavski, whose presence constrained 
him in a high degree. Afterward, when Marynia informed 
him that Pani Emilia would begin her novitiate in a few 
days, he went to take farewell of her. 

He found her calm and almost joyous, but his heart was 
pained when he looked at her. Her face was transparent 
in places, as if formed of pearl; the blue veins appeared 
through the skin on her temples. 

She was very beautiful, in a style almost unearthly, but 
Pan Stanislav thought: “I will take the last leave of her, 
for she will not hold out even a month; from one more 
attachment, one more grief and unhappiness.” 

She spoke to him of her decision as of a thing the most 
usual, to be understood of itself, —the natural outcome of 
what had happened, the natural refuge from a life deprived 
of every basis. Pan Stanislav understood that for him to 
dissuade her would be purely conscienceless, and an act 
devoid of sense. 

“*Will you remain in Warsaw?” asked he. 

“JT will, for I wish to be near Litka; and the mother 
superior promised that I should be in the house first, and 
afterward, when I learn something, in one of the hospitals. 
Unless unusual events come to pass, while I am in the 
house I shall be free to visit Litka every Sunday.” 

Pan Stanislav set his teeth, and was silent; he looked 
only at the delicate hands of Pani Emilia, thinking in his 
soul, — 

“She wishes to nurse the sick with those hands.” 

But at the same time he divined that she wanted, beyond 
all, something else. He felt that under her calmness and 
resignation there was immense pain, strong as death, and 


202 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


ealling for death with all the powers of her heart and soul; - 
but she wished death to come without her fault, not through 
her sin, but her service, — her reward for that service was 
to be her union with Litka. 

And now, for the first time, Pan Stanislav understood 
the difference between pain and pain, between sorrow and 
sorrow. He, too, loved Litka; but in him, besides sorrow 
for her, and remembrance of her, there was something else, 
—a certain interest in life, a certain curiosity touching 
the future, certain desires, thoughts, tendencies. To Pani 
Emilia there remained nothing, —it was as if she had died 
with Litka; and if anything in the world occupied her 
yet, if she loved those who were near her, it was only for 
Litka, through Litka, and in so far as they were connected 
with Litka. 

These visits and that farewell were oppressive to Pan 
Stanislav. He had been deeply attached to Pani Emilia, 
but now he had the feeling that the cord binding them had 
snapped once and forever, that their roads parted at that 
moment, for he was going farther by the way of life; she, 
however, wished her life to burn out as quickly as possible, 
and had chosen labor, — blessed, it is true, — but beyond 
her strength, so as to make death come more quickly. 

This thought closed his lips. In the last moments, how- 
ever, the attachment which he had felt for her from of 
old overcame him; and he spoke with genuine emotion 
while kissing her hand. 

“Dear, very dear lady, may God guard and comfort 

ou!” 
Here words failed him; but she said, without dropping 
his hand, — 

“Till I die, I shall not forget you, since you loved Litka 
so much. I know, from Marynia, that Litka united you 
and her; and for that reason I know that you will be 
happy, otherwise God would not have inspired her. As 
often as I see you in life, I shall think that Litka made 
you happy. Let her wish be accomplished at the earliest, 
and God bless you both!” 

Pan Stanislav said nothing; but, when returning home, 
he thought, — 

“Litka’s will! She does not even admit that Litka’s 
will can remain unaccomplished; and how was I to tell 
her that the other is not for me now what she once was?” 

Still Pan Stanislav felt with increasing distinctness that 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 203 


it was not right to remain as he was any longer, and that 
those bonds connecting him with Marynia ought soon to 
be tightened, or broken, so as to end the strange condition, 
and the misunderstandings and sorrows which might rise 
from it. He felt the need of doing this quickly, so as to 
act with honor; and new alarm seized him, for it seemed 
that, no matter how he acted, his action would not bring 
him happiness. 

When he reached home, he found a letter from Mashko, 
which read as follows, — 

* T have called on thee twice to-day. Some lunatic has insulted 
me before my subordinates on account of the oak which I sold thee. 
His name is Gantovski. I need to speak with thee, and shall come 
again before evening.” 

In fact, he ran in before the expiration of an hour, and 
asked, without removing his overcoat, — 

**Dost thou know that Gantovski?” 

**! know him; he is a neighbor and relative of the Plavit- 
skis. What has happened, and how has it happened?” 

Mashko removed his overcoat, and said, — 

“T do not understand how news of the sale could get out, 
for I have not spoken of it to any one; and it was important 
for me that it should not become known.” 

“Our agent, Abdulski, went to Kremen to look at the 
oak. Gantovski must have heard of the sale from him.” 

“Tisten; this is the event. To-day Gantovski’s card is 
brought into my office; not knowing who he is, I receive 
the man. <A rough fellow enters, and asks if ’tis true 
that I sold the oak, and if I wish to depopulate a part of 
Kremen. Evidently I reply by asking how that may con- 
cern him. He answers that I have bound myself to pay 
old Plavitski a yearly annuity from Kremen; and that, if 
IT ruin the place by a plundering management, there will 
be nothing through which to compel me. In answer, as 
thou canst understand, I advise him to take his cap, button 
up closely, in view of the frost, and go to the place whence 
he came. Hereupon he falls to making an uproar, calling 
me a cheat anda swindler. At last he says that he lives 
in the Hotel Saxe, and goes out. Hast thou the key to 
this? Canst thou tell me its meaning?” 

“Of course. First, this Gantovski is of limited mind, 
by nature he is rude; second, for whole years he has been 
in love with Panna Plavitski, and has wished to be her 


knight.” 


204 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“Thou knowest that I have rather cool blood; but, in 
truth, it secms at times a dream. That a man should 
permit himself to insult me because I sell my own property, 
simply passes human understanding.” 

“What dost thou think of doing? Old Plavitski will be 
the first to warm Gantovski’s ears, and force him to beg 
thy pardon.” 

Mashko’s face took on such a cold and determined ex- 
pression of wrath that Pan Stanislav thought, — 

“ Well, ‘ the bear’ has brewed beer of a kind that he did 
not expect; now he must drink it.” 

“No one has ever offended me without being punished, 
and no one ever will. This man not only has insulted me, 
but has done me a wrong beyond estimation.” 

**He is a fool, simply irresponsible.” 

“A mad dog, too, is irresponsible, but people shoot him 
in the head. I talk, as thou seest, coolly; listen, then, — 
to what I say: a catastrophe has come to me, from which 
I shall not rise.” 

“Thou art speaking coolly; but anger is stifling thee, and 
thou art ready to exaggerate.” 

“Not in the least; be patient, and hear me to the end. 
The position is this: If my marriage is stopped, or even 
put off, a few months, the devils will take me, with my 
position, my credit, my Kremen, and all that I have. I 
tell thee that I am travelling with the last of my steam, 
and I must stop. Panna Kraslavski does not marry me for 
love, but because she is twenty-nine years of age, and I 
seem to her, if not the match she dreamed of, at least a 
satisfactory one. If it shall seem that I am not what she 
thinks, she will break with me. If those ladies should 
discover to-day that I sold the oak in Kremen from neces- 
sity, I should receive a refusal to-morrow. Now think: 
the scandal was public, for it was in presence of my ~ 
subordinates. The matter will not be kept secret. I 
might explain to those ladies the sale of the oak, but yet I 
shall be an insulted man. If I do not challenge Gantovski, 
they may break with me, as a fellow without honor; if I 
challenge him, — remember that they are devotees, and, 
besides, women who keep up appearances as no others 
that I know, —they will break with me then as a man of © 
adventures. If I shoot Gantovski, they will break with — 
me as a murderer; if he hits me, they will break with me © 
as an imbecile, who lets himself be insulted and beaten. © 


; 
















CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 205 


In a hundred chances there are ninety that they will act in 
this way. Is it clear to thee now why I said that the 
devils will take me, my credit, my position, and Kremen 
in addition?” 

Pan Stanislav waved his hand with all the easy egotism 
to which a man can bring himself in reference to another, 
who, at the bottom of things, is of little account to him. 
“Bah!” said he; “maybe I will buy Kremen of thee. 
But the position is difficult. What dost thou think, then, 
of doing with Gantovski?” 

To this Mashko answered: “So far I pay my debts. 
Thou dost not wish to be my groomsman; wilt thou be my 
second?” 

“That is not refused,” answered Pan Stanislav. 

“T thank thee. Gantovksi lives in the Hotel Saxe.” 

“T will be with him to-morrow.” 

Immediately after Mashko’s departure, Pan Stanislav 
went to spend the evening at Plavitski’s; on the road he 
thought, — 

“There are no jokes with Mashko, and the affair will 
not finish in common fashion; but what is that to me? 
What are they all to me, or I to them? Still, how devil- 
ishly alone a man is in the world!” 

And all at once he felt that the only person on earth who 
eared for him, and who thought of him, not as a thing, was 
Marynia. 

And, in fact, when he came, he knew from the very 
_ pressure of her hand that this was true. She said to him, 
in greeting, with her mild and calm voice, — 

*‘T had a presentiment that you would.come. See, here 
is a cup waiting for you.” 


206 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


Wuen Pan Stanislav came to the Plavitskis’ he found 
there Gantovski. The young men greeted each other at 
once with evident coldness and aversion. There was not 
in the whole world that day an unhappier man than Gan- 
tovski. Old Plavitski bantered him as usual, and even 
more than usual, being in excellent humor because of his 
relative, the old lady from whom he expected a consider- 
able inheritance. Gantovski’s presence was awkward for 
Marynia; and she strove in vain to hide this annoyance by 
kindness and a cordial reception. At last Pan Stanislav 
almost feigned not to see him. It was evident, too, that 
Gantovski had not confessed anything before old Plavitski, 
and that he was trembling lest Pan Stanislav might refer 
to his adventure with Mashko, or tell it outright. 

Pan Stanislav understood this at once, as well as the 
advantage over “the bear” which was given him by his 
silence; wishing to use it in the interest of Mashko, he 
was silent for a time, but could not forego the pleasure of 
punishing Gantovski in another way. He occupied himself 
the whole evening with Marynia, as he had not done since 
Litka’s death. This filled Marynia with evident delight. 
Leaving Gantovski to her father, she walked with Pan 
Stanislav through the room and talked confidentially ; then 
they sat under the palm, where Pan Stanislav had seen 
Pani Emilia after the funeral, and talked about her ap- 
proaching admission to the order of Sisters of Charity. To 
Gantovski it seemed at times that only people who were 
betrothed could speak in that way ; and he felt then what 
must be felt by a soul not in purgatory, for in purgatory a 
soul has hope yet before it, but what is felt by a soul 
when entering the gate with the inscription “ Lasciate ogni 
speranza”’ (Leave every hope). Seeing them together in this 
way, he thought, too, that perhaps Polanyetski had bought 
the oak with the land so as to obtain for Marynia even a 
part of Kremen, and therefore with her will and knowledge. 
And this being the case, the hair rose on his head at the 
mere thought of how he had blundered in raising a scandal 
with Mashko. Plavitski, on his part, hearing his half con- 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 207 


scious, but altogether inappropriate answers, amused him- 
self still more at the expense of the “rustic,” who on the 
city pavement had lost what remained of his wit. Pla- 
vitski considered himself now as the model of a man of 
the “ capital.” 

The moment came, however, when the young men were 
left alone, for Marynia was occupied with tea in the next 
room, and Plavitski had gone for cigars to his study ; Pan 
Stanislav turned then to Gantovski, — 

“Tet us go together after tea,” said he; “I wish to 
speak with you touching your collision with Pan Mashko.” 

“Of course,” answered Gantovski, gloomily, understand- 
ing that Polanyetski was Mashko’s second. 

Meanwhile they had to remain for tea, and sit long 
enough after that, for Plavitski did not like to go to bed 
early, and summoned Gantovski to a game of chess. During 
the play, Marynia and Pan Stanislav sat apart and conversed 
with animation, to the heartfelt torment of “the bear.” 

“The arrival of Gantovski must be pleasing to you,” 
said Pan Stanislav, all at once, “for it brings Kremen to 
your mind.” 

Astonishment flashed over Marynia’s face that he was 
the first to mention Kremen. She had supposed that, in 
virtue of a tacit agreement, he would cover that question 
with silence. 

“J think no more now of Kremen,” answered she, after a 
pause. 

This statement was not true, for in her heart’s depth she 
was sorry for the place in which she had been reared, — 
the place of her labor for years, and of her shattered hopes ; 
but she thought herself forced to speak thus by duty, and 
by the feeling for Pan Stanislav, which was increasing 
continually. 

“Kremen,” added she, with a voice of some emotion, 
“was the cause of our earliest quarrel; and I wish now for 
concord, concord forever.” 

While saying this, she looked into Pan Stanislay’s eyes 
with a coquetry full of sweetness, which a bad woman is 
able to put on at any time, but an honest woman only when 
she is beginning to love. 

“She is wonderfully kind,” thought he. Straightway he 
added aloud, “ You might have a fabulous weapon against 
me, for you might lead me to perdition with kindness.” 

“T do not wish to lead you to that,” replied she. 


208 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


And in sign that she did not, she began to shake her 
dark, shapely head laughingly; and Pan Stanislav looked 
at her smiling face, and her mouth a trifle too large, and 
said mentally, — 

‘‘Whether I love her, or love her not, no one attracts 
me as she does.” 

In fact, she had never occupied him and never pleased 
him more, even when he felt no shade of doubt that he 
loved her, and when he was struggling with that feeling. 
But at last he took farewell of her, for it had grown late; 
and after a while he and Gantovski found themselves on 
the street. 

Pan Stanislav who never had been able to guard himself 
from impulsiveness, stopped the unfortunate “bear,” and 
asked almost angrily, — 

“Did you know that it was I who bought the oak at 
Kremen ? ” 

“JT did,” answered Gantovski; “for your agent, that man 
who says that he is descended from Tartars —I forget 
what his name is — was at my house in Yalbrykov, and told 
me that it was you.” 

“Why, then, did you make the scandal with Pan 
Mashko, not with me ?” 

“Do not push me to the wall so,” answered Gantovski, 
“for I do not like it. I raised the scandal with him, not 
with you, because the Plavitskis have nothing to do with 
you; but that man is obliged to pay them yearly from 
Kremen the amount he has engaged to pay, and if he ruins 
Kremen, he will have nothing to pay from. If you wished 
to know why I attacked him, you know now.” 

Pan Stanislav had to confess in his soul that there was 
a certain justice in Gantovski’s answer; hence he began 
the conversation at once from another side, — 

“Pan Mashko has begged me to be his second, that’s why 
I interfere in this question. I shall call on you to-morrow 
as a second; but as a private man, and a relative, though a 
distant one, of Pan Plavitski, I can tell you to-day only 
this, —that you have rendered the poorest service to Pan 
Plavitski, and if he and his daughter are left without a 
morsel of bread, they will have you to thank for it. This 
is the truth!” 

Gantovski’s eyes became perfectly round. 

“Without a morsel of bread? They will thank me 
for it ?” 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 209 


“That is the position,” repeated Pan Stanislav. “ But 
listen carefully. Without reference to the result of the 
scandal, the circumstances are such that it may have the 
most fatal results. I say this to you, on my word: you 
have, perhaps, ruined Pan Plavitski, and taken from him 
and his daughter the way, or rather the means, of living.” 

If Gantovski really did not like to be pressed to the wall, 
it was time for him then to show his dislike; but Gantov- 
ski had lost his head utterly, and stood in amazement, 
with open mouth, unable to find an answer; and only after 
a time did he begin, — 

“What? How? In what way? Be sure that it will 
not come to that, even if I have to give them Yalbrykov.” 

“ Pan Gantovski,” interrupted Pan Stanislav, “it is a pity 
to lose words. I have known your neighborhood from the 
time I was a little boy. What is Yalbrykov, and what have 
you in Yalbrykov ?” 

It was true, Yalbrykov was a poor little village, with 
nine vlokas of land ; and, besides, Gantovski had, as is usual, 
inherited debts higher than his ears; so his hands dropped 
at his sides. It occurred to him, however, that perhaps 
matters did not stand as Pan Stanislav represented them ; 
and he grasped at this thought as at a plank of salvation. 

“TI do not understand what you say,” said he. “God is 
my witness that I would choose my own ruin rather than 
injure the Plavitskis; and know this, that I would be glad 
to twist the neck of Pan Mashko; but, if it is necessary, — 
if it is a question of the Plavitskis, — then let the devils 
take me first! 

“Immediately after the scandal, I went to Pan Yamish, 
who is here at the session, and told him all. He said that 
I had committed a folly, and scolded me, it is true. If it 
were a question of my skin, it would be nothing, —I would 
not move a finger; but, since it touches something else, I 
will do what Pan Yamish tells me, even should a thunder- 
_ bolt split me next moment. Pan Yamish lives at the 
Hotel Saxe, and so do I.” 

They parted on this; and Gantovski went to his hotel, 
cursing Mashko, himself, and Polanyetski. He felt that it 
must be as Polanyetski had said, —that some incurable 
misfortune had happened,—and that he had wrought 
grievous injustice against that same Panna Marynia for 
whom he would have given his last drop of blood; he felt 
that if there had been for him any hope, he had destroyed it 

14 


210 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


completely. Plavitski would close his door on him. Panna 
Marynia would marry Polanyetski, unless he didn’t want 
her. But who would not want her? And, at the same time, 
Pan Gantovski saw clearly that among those who might ask 
her hand, he was the last man she would marry. “ What 
have 1? Nothing,” said he to himself; “that measly Yal-. 
brykoy, nothing more, — neither good name nor money. 
Every man knows something; I alone know nothing. 
Every one means something; I alone mean nothing. That 
Polanyetski has learning and money; but that I love her 
better, — the devils to me for that, and as much to her, if I 
am such an idiot that through loving I harm instead of 
helping her.” 

Pan Stanislav, on his way home, thought of Gantovski in 
the same way, and in general had not for him even one 
spark of sympathy. At home he found Mashko, who had 
been waiting an hour, and who said, as greeting, — 

“ Kresovski will be the other second.” 

Pan Stanislav made somewhat of a wry face, and an- 
swered, — 

“T have seen Gantovski.” 

“And what ?” 

“He is a fool.” 

“ He is that, first of all. Hast thou spoken to him in my 
name ?” 

“Not in thy name. As a relative of Pan Plavitski, I 
told him that he had given Pan Plavitski the worst service 
in the world.” 

“ You gave no explanations ? ” 

“None. Hear me, Mashko: it is a question for thee of 
complete satisfaction; it is no point for me that ye should 
shoot each other. In virtue of what I have told Gantovski, 
he is ready to agree to all thy conditions. Happily, he has 
committed himself to Yamish. Yamish is a mild, prudent 
man, who understands also that Gantovski has acted like an 
idiot, and will be glad to give him a lesson.” 

“Very well,” said Mashko. “Give me a pen and piece 
of paper.” 

“Thou hast them at the desk.” 

Mashko sat down and wrote. When he had finished, 
he gave the written sheet to Pan Stanislav, who read as 
follows : — 

‘*T testify this day that I attacked Pan Mashko while I was drunk, 
in a state of unconsciousness, and without giving myself account of 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. B11 


what I was saying. To-day, having become sober, in presence of 
my seconds, the seconds of Pan Mashko, and the persons who were 
present at the scene, I acknowledge my act as rude and senseless, 
and turn with the greatest sorrow and contrition to the good sense 
and kindness of Pan Mashko, begging him for forgiveness, and 
acknowledging publicly that his conduct was and is in everything 
above the judgment of men like me.” 


“‘Gantovski is to declaim this, and then subscribe it,” 
said Mashko. 

“This is devilishly unmerciful; no one will agree to it,” 
said Pan Stanislav. 

“Dost thou acknowledge that this fool has permitted to 
himself something unheard of with reference to me?” 

il, do.” 

“And remember what result this adventure may have 
for me?” 

“Tt is impossible to know that.” 

“Well, I know; but I will tell thee only this much, — 
those ladies will regret from their souls that they are bound 
to me, and will use every pretext which will excuse them 
before society. That is certain; I am ruined almost 
beyond rescue.” 

| Ehe devil!” 

“Thou canst understand now that what is troubling me 
must be ground out on some one, and that Gantovski must 
pay me for the injustice in one form or another.” 

“Neither have I any tenderness for him. Let it be so,” 
said Pan Stanislav, shrugging his shoulders. 

“Kresovski will come for thee to-morrow morning at 
nine.” 

“Very well.” 

“Then, till we meet again. By the way, should you 
see Plavitski to-morrow, tell him that his relative, Panna 
Ploshovski, from whom he expected an inheritance, has 
died in Rome. Her will was here with her manager, 
Podvoyni, and is to be opened to-morrow.” 

**Plavitski knows of that already, for she died five days 
ago.” 

Pan Stanislav was left alone. For a certain time he 
thought of his money without being able to foresee a 
method by which he might receive it from the bankrupt 
Mashko, and the thought disturbed him. He remembered, 
however, that the debt could not be removed from the mort- 
gage on Kremen until it was paid in full; that in this last 


212 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


case he would continue as he had been previously, —a 
creditor of Kremen. Kremen, it is true, was not a much 
better debtor than Mashko, hence this was no great con- 
solation; but for the time he was forced to be satisfied 
with it. Later on, something else also came to his head, 
He remembered Litka, Pani Emilia, Marynia, and he was 
struck by this, — how the world of women, a world of feel- 
ings purely, a world whose great interest hes in living in 
the happiness of those near us, differs from the world of 
men, a world full of rivalry, struggles, duels, encounters, 
angers, torments, and efforts for acquiring property. He 
recognized at that moment what he had not felt before, — 
that if there be solace, repose, and happiness on earth, 
they are to be sought from a loving woman. ‘This feeling 
was directly opposed to his philosophy of the last few 
days, hence it disturbed him. But, in comparing further 
those two worlds, he could not withhold the acknowledg- 
ment that that feminine and loving world has its founda- 
tion and reason of existence. 

If Pan Stanislav had been more intimate with the Holy 
Scriptures, beyond doubt the words, ‘ Mary has chosen the 
better part,” would have occurred to him. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 213 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


KREsovskr was almost an hour late on the following 
morning. He was, according to a noted description among 
us, one of the administrators of fresh air in the city, —that 
is, one of the men who do nothing. He had a name sufti- 
ciently famous, and had squandered rather a large fortune. 
On these two foundations he lived, he went everywhere, 
and was recognized universally as a man of good breeding. 
How the above titles can provide a man everything is 
the secret of great cities; it is enough that not only 
Kresovski’s position was recognized and certain, but he 
was considered a person to whom it was possible to apply 
with safety in delicate questions. In courts of honor he 
was employed as an arbiter; in duels, asa second. High 
financial circles were glad to invite him to dinners, wed- 
dings, christenings, and solemnities of that sort, since he 
had a patrician baldness, and a countenance extremely 
Polish; hence he ornamented a table perfectly. 

He was a man in the essence of things greatly disen- 
chanted with people, a little consumptive, and very satiri- 
eal. He possessed, however, a certain share of humor, 
which permitted him to see the laughable side of things, 
especially of very small things; in this he resembled 
Bukatski somewhat, and made sport of his own fault-tind- 
ing. He permitted others to make sport of it also, but 
within measure. When the measure was passed, he straight- 
ened himself suddenly, and squeezed people to excess; in 
view of this he was looked on as dangerous. It was 
said of him that in a number of cases he had found courage 
where many would have lacked it, and that, in general, he 
could ‘‘carry his nose high.” He did not respect any one 
nor anything, except his own really very noble physiog- 
nomy; time, especially, he did not respect, for he was 
late always and everywhere. Coming in to Pan Stanislav’s 
on this occasion, he began at once, after the greeting, to 
explain his tardiness, — 

“Have you not noticed,” asked he, “that if a man is in 
areal hurry, and very anxious to hasten, the things he 
needs most vanish purposely? The servant seeks his hat, 


214 CHILDREN OF THE SOLL. 


—it is gone; looks for his overshoes,— they are not there ; 
hunts for his pocket-book, —it is not to be had. I will 
wager that this is so always.” 

‘*Tt happens thus,” said Pan Stanislav. 

“T have, in fact, invented a cure. When something has 
gone from me as if it had fallen into water, I sit down, 
smile, and say aloud: ‘I love to lose a thing in this way, I 
do passionately; ’ my man looks for it, becomes lively, stirs 
about, passes the time, — that is very wholesome and agree- 
able. And what will you say? Right away the lost article 
is found.” 

“A patent might be taken for such an invention,” 
answered Pan Stanislav; ‘‘but let us speak of Mashko’s 
affair.” 

“We must go to Yamish. Mashko has sent me a paper 
which he has written for Gantovski. He is unwilling to 
change a word; but it is an impossible statement, too harsh, 
— it cannot be accepted. I understand that a duel is wait- 
ing for us, nothing else; I see no other outcome.” 

“Gantovski has intrusted himself to Pan Yamish in 
everything, and he will do all that Yamish commands. 
But Yamish, to begin with, is also indignant at Gantovski; 
secondly, he is a sick man, mild, ‘calm, so that who knows 
that he may not accept such conditions.” 

“Pan Yamish is an old dotard,” said Kresovski; ‘‘but 
let us go, for it is late.” 

They went out. After a while the sleigh halted before 
the hotel. Pan Yamish was waiting for them, but he 
received them in his dressing-gown, for he was really in 
poor health. Kresovski, looking at his intelligent, but 
careworn and swollen face, thought, — 

“*He is really ready to agree to everything.” 

“Sit down, gentlemen,” said Pan Yamish; ‘‘I came only 
three days ago, and though I do not feel well, I am glad, 
for perhaps the affair may be settled. Believe me that I 
was the first to rub the ears of my water-burner.” 

Here he shrugged his shoulders, and, turning to Pan 
Stanislav, inquired, — 

“What are the Plavitskis doing? I have not visited 
them yet, though I long to see my golden Marynia.” 

“Panna Marynia is well,” answered Pan Stanislav. 

“But the old man?” 

“A few days ago a distant relative of his died, —a very 
wealthy woman; he is counting, therefore, on an inherit- 
ance. He told me so yesterday; but I hear that she has 





CHILDREN OF THE SOLL. 215 


left all her property for benevolent purposes. The will is 
to be opened to-day or to-morrow.” 

“May God have inspired her to leave something to 
Marynia! but let us come to our affair. I need not tell 
you, gentlemen, that it is our duty to finish it amicably, 
if we can.” 

Kresovski bowed. Introductions like this, which he had 
heard in his life God knows how often, annoyed him. 

“We are profoundly convinced of this duty.” 

“So I had hoped,” answered Yamish, benevolently. “I 
confess myself that Pan Gantovski had not the least right 
to act as he did. I recognize even as just that he should 
be punished for it; hence I shall persuade him to all, even 
very considerable, concessions, fitted to assure proper satis- 
faction to Pan Mashko.” 

Kresovski took from his pocket the folded paper, and 
gave it, with a smile, to Pan Yamish, saying, — 

“Pan Mashko demands nothing more than that Pan 
Gantovski should read this little document, to begin with, 
in presence of his own and Pan Mashko’s seconds, as well 
as in presence of Pan Mashko’s subordinates, who were 
present at the scene, and then write under it his own 
respected name.” 

Pan Yamish, finding his spectacles among his papers, 
put them on his nose, and began to read. But as he read, 
his face grew red, then pale; after that he began to pant. 
Pan Stanislav and Kresovski could searcely believe their 
eyes that that was the same Pan Yamish who a moment 
before was ready for every concession. 

“Gentlemen,” said he, with a broken voice, “Pan Gan- 
tovski has acted like a water-burner, lke a thoughtless 
man; but Pan Gantovski is a noble, and this is what I 
answer in his name to Pan Mashko.” 

When he said this, he tore the paper in four pieces, and 
threw them on the floor. 

The thing had not been foreseen. Kresovski began to 
meditate whether Yamish had not offended his dignity of 
a second by this act, and in one moment his face began to 
grow icy. and contract like that of an angry dog; but Pan 
Stanislav, who loved Pan Yamish, was pleased at his 
indignation. 

“Pan Mashko is injured in such an unusual degree that 
he cannot ask for less; but Pan Kresovski and I foresaw 
your answer, and it only increases the respect which we 
have for you.” 


216 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Pan Yamish sat down, and, being somewhat asthmatic, 
breathed rather heavily for a time; then he grew quiet, 
and said, — 

“T might offer you an apology on the part of Pan Gan- 
tovski, but in other expressions altogether; I see, however, 
that we should be losing time merely. Let us talk at once 
of satisfaction, weapon in hand. Pan Vilkovski, Pan 
Gantovski’s other second, will be here soon; and if you 
can wait, we will fix the conditions immediately.” 

“That is called going straight to the object,” said 
Kresovski, who quite agreed with Pan Yamish. 

“But from necessity,—and sad necessity,” replied 
Yamish. 

“T must be in my office at eleven,” said Pan Stanislav, 
looking at his watch; ‘but, if you permit, I will run in 
here about one o’clock, to look over the conditions and sign 
them.” 

“That will do. We cannot draw up conditions that will 
rouse people’s laughter, that I understand and inform you; 
but I count on this, —that you, gentlemen, will not make 
them too stringent.” 

“T have no thought, I assure you, of quarrelling to risk 
another man’s life.” So saying, Pan Stanislav started for 
his office, where, in fact, a number of affairs of consider- 
able importance were awaiting him, and which, in Bigiel’s 
absence, he had to settle alone. In the afternoon he signed 
the conditions of the duel, which were serious, but not too 
stringent. He went then to dinner, for he hoped to find 
Mashko in the restaurant. Mashko had gone to Pani 
Kraslavski’s; and the first person whom Pan Stanislav 
saw was Plavitski, dressed, as usual, with care, shaven, 
buttoned, fresh-looking, but gloomy as night. 

“What is my respected uncle doing here?” asked Pan 
Stanislav. 

“When I have trouble, I do not dine at home usually, 
and this to avoid afflicting Marynia,” answered Plavitski. 
“T go somewhere; and as thou seest, the wing of a 
chicken, a spoonful of preserve, is all that I need. Take 
a seat with me, if thou hast no pleasanter company.” 

“ What has happened?” 

“Old traditions are perishing; that has happened.” 

“Bah! this is not a misfortune personal to uncle.” 

Plavitski glanced at him gloomily and solemnly. “To. 
day,” said he, “a will has been opened.” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. DA bys 


“Well, and what?” 

“And what? People are saying now throughout War- 
saw: ‘She remembered her most distant relatives!’ Nicely 
did she remember them! Marynia has an inheritance, has 
she? Knowest thou how much? four hundred rubles a 
year for life. And the woman was a millionnaire! An 
inheritance like that may be left to a servant, not to a 
relative.” 

“But to uncle?” 

“Nothing to me. She left fifteen thousand rubles to 
her manager, but mentioned no syllable about me.” 

“What is to be done?” 

“Old traditions are perishing. How many people gained 
estates formerly through wills, and why was it? Because 
love and solidarity existed in families.” 

“Even to-day I know people on whose heads thousands 
have fallen from wills.” 

“True, there are such, —there are many of them; but I 
am not of the number.” 

Plavitski rested his head on his hand, and from his 
mouth issued something in the style of a monologue. 

‘‘Ves, always somewhere somebody leaves something to 
somebody.’’ Here he sighed, and after a while added, 
“But to me no one leaves anything, anywhere, at any 
time.” 

Suddenly an idea equally cruel and empty occurred to 
Pan Stanislav on a sudden to cheer up Plavitski; there- 
fore he said, — 

“Ai! she died in Rome; but the will here was written 
long ago, and before that one there was another altogether 
different, as people tell me. Who knows that in Rome a 
little codicil may not be found, and that my dear uncle 
will not wake up a millionnaire some day?” 

“That day will not come,” answered Plavitski. Still 
the words had moved him; he began to gaze at Polanyetski, 
to squirm as if the chair on which he was sitting were 
a bed of torture, and said, at last, “And you think that 
possible?” 

“T see in it nothing impossible,” answered Pan Stanislav, 
with real roguish seriousness. © 

‘“‘Tf the wish of Providence.” 

‘*And that may be.” 

Plavitski looked around the hall; they were alone. He 
pushed back his chair on a sudden, and, pointing to his 
shirt-bosom, said, — 


218 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 

“Come here, my boy!” 

Pan Stanislav inclined his head, which Plavitski kissed 
twice, saying at the same time, with emotion, — 

“Thou hast consoled me; thou hast strengthened me. 
Let it be as God wills, but thou hast strengthened me. I 
confess to thee now that I wrote to Panna Ploshovski only 
to remind her that we were living. I asked her when the 
rent term of one of her estates would end; I had not, as 
thou knowest, the intention to take that place, but the 
excuse was a good one. May God reward thee for strength- 
ening me! ‘the present will may have been made betore 
my letter. She went to Rome later; on the way she must 
have thought of my letter, and therefore of us; and, to my 
thinking, that is possible. God reward thee!” 

After a while his face cleared up completely; all at once 
he laid his hand on Pan Stanislav’s knee, and, clicking 
with his tongue, cried,— 

“Knowest what, my boy? Perhaps in a happy hour 
thou hast spoken; and might we not drink a small bottle 
of Mouton-Rothschild on account of this codicil?” 

“God knows that I cannot,” said Pan Stanislav, who 
had begun to be a little ashamed of what he had said to 
the old man. “I cannot, and I will not.” 

“Thou must.” 

**7Pon my word, I cannot. JI have my hands full of work, 
and I will not befog my head for anything in the world.” 

‘*A stubborn goat, —a regular goat! Then I will drink 
half a bottle to the happy hour.” 

So he ordered it, and asked, — 

“What hast thou to do?” 

“Various things. Immediately after dinner I must be 
with Professor Vaskovski.” 

“What kind of a figure is that Vaskovski? ” 

“Tn fact,” said Pan Stanislav, “an inheritance has fallen 
to him from his brother, who was a miner, —an inherit- 
ance, and a considerable one. But he gives all to the 
poor.” 

‘*He gives to the poor, but goes to a good restaurant. 
I like such philanthropists. If I had anything to give the 
poor, I would deny myself everything.” 

“He was ailing a long time, and the doctor ordered him 
to eat plentifully. But even in that case he eats only 
what is cheap. He lives in a poor chamber, and rears 
birds. Next door he has two large rooms; and knowest, 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 219 


uncle, who passes the night in them? Children whom he 
picks up on the street.” 

“Jt seemed to me right away that he had something 
here,” said Plavitski, tapping his forehead with his 
finger. 

Pan Stanislav did not find Vaskovski at home; hence 
after an interview with Mashko he dropped in to see 
Marynia about five in the afternoon. His conscience was 
gnawing him for the nonsense he had spoken to Plavitski. 
“The old man,” said he to himself, “will drink costly 
wines on account of that codicil; while to my thinking 
they are living beyond their means already. The joke 
should not last too long.” 

He found Marynia with her hat on. She was going to 
the Bigiels’, but received him, and since he had not come 
for a long time, he remained. 

“T congratulate you on the inheritance,” said he. 

“Tam glad myself,” replied she; “it is something sure, 
and in our position that is important. For that matter, I 
should like to be as rich as possible.” 

“Why so?” 

“You remember what you said once, that you would lke 
to have enough to establish a manufactory, and not carry 
ona mercantile house. I remember that; and since every 
one has personal wishes, I should like to have much, much 
money.” 

Then, thinking that she might have said too much, and 
said it too definitely, she began to straighten the fold of 
her dress, so as to incline her head. 

“T came, for another thing, to beg your pardon,” said Pan 
Stanislav. “To-day at dinner I told a pack of nonsense to 
Pan Plavitski, saying that Panna Ploshovski had changed 
her will, perhaps, and left him a whole estate. Beyond my 
expectation he took it seriously. I should not wish to have 
him deceive himself; and if you will permit me, I will goat 
once to him and explain the matter somehow.” 

“T have explained it to him already,” said Marynia, 
smiling; “he scolded me, and that greatly. You see how 
you have involved matters. You have cause indeed to beg 
pardon.” 

“ Therefore I beg.” 

And, seizing her hand, he began to cover it with kisses ; 
and she left it with him completely, repeating as if in 
sarcasm, but with emotion, — 


220 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“ Ah, the wicked Pan Stas, the wicked Pan Stas!” 

That day Pan Stanislav felt on his lips till he fell asleep 
the warmth of Marynia’s hand; and he thought neither of 
Mashko nor Gantovski, but repeated to himself with great 
persistence, — 

“It is time to decide this.” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 221 


CHAPTER XXYV. 


KresovskI, with a doctor and a case containing pistols, 
entered one carriage, Pan Stanislav with Mashko another, 
and the two moved toward Bielany. ‘The day was clear and 
frosty, full of rosy haze near the ground. ‘The wheels 
turned with a whining on the frozen snow; the horses were 
steaming, and covered with frost; on the trees abundant 
snow was resting. 

“Frost that is frost,” said Mashko. ‘Our fingers will 
freeze to the triggers. And the delight of removing one’s 
mrs)! 7 

“Then be reconciled; make no delay. My dear man, tell 
Kresovski to begin the work straightway.” 

Here Mashko wiped his damp eye-glass, and added, 
“ Before we reach the place, the sun will be high, and there 
will be a great glitter from the snow.” 

“ Finish quickly, then,” answered Pan Stanislav. “Since 
Kresoyvski is in time, there will be no waiting for the others; 
they are used to early rising.” 

“Dost know what makes me anxious at this moment ? ” 
asked Mashko. “ This, that there is in the world one factor 
with which no one reckons in his plans and actions, and 
through which everything may be shattered, involved, and 
ruined, —human stupidity. Imagine me with ten times the 
mind that I have, and unoccupied with the interests of Pan 
Mashko. Imagine me, for example, some great statesman, 
some Bismark or Cavour, who needs to gain property to 
earry out his plans, and who calculates every step, every 
word, — what then? <A beast like this comes along, stupid 
beyond human reckoning, and carries all away on his horns. 
That is something fabulous! Whether this fellow will 
shoot me or not, is the least account now; but the brute has 
spoiled my life-work.” 

“ Who can calculate such a thing?” said Pan Stanislav. 
“Tt is as if a roof were to fall on thy head.” 

“For that very reason rage seizes me.” 

“ But as to his shooting thee, don’t think of that.” 

Mashko recovered, wiped his glass again, and began, — 


222 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


* My dear, I see that from the moment of our starting 
thou hast been observing me a little, and now ’tis thy wish 
to add to my courage. ‘That is natural. On my part, I must 
calm thee ; and on my word I give assurance that I will not 
shame thee. I feel a little disquiet,— that is simple ; but 
knowest why ? That which constitutes danger of life, the 
firing at one, is nothing. Let weapons be given me and him; 
let us into the woods. God knows that I should fire away at 
that idiot half a day, and meet his shots half a day. I have 
had a duel already, and know what it is. It is the comedy 
that disconcerts one, the preparations, the seconds, the idea 
that men will look at thee, and the fear touching how thou wilt 
appear, how thou wilt acquit thyself. It is simply a public 
exhibition, and a question of self-love, — nothing more. For 
nervous natures a genuine trial. But I am not over nervous. 
I understand, also, that in this regard I am superior to my 
opponent, for | am more accustomed to men. “J'is true 
such an ass has less imagination, and is not able to think; 
for example, how he would look as a corpse; how he would 
begin to decay, and so on. Still I shall be able to command 
myself better. besides, I will tell thee another thing: 
Philosophy is philosophy; but in matters like this the 
decisive elements are temperament and passion. This duel 
will not bring me to anything, will not save me in any re- 
gard; on the contrary, it may bring me to trouble. But 
still I cannot deny it to myself, so much indignation has 
collected in my soul, I so hate that idiot, and would like so 
to crush and trample him, — that I cease to reason. Thou 
mayest be certain of one thing, — that as soon as I see the 
face of the blockhead I shall forget disquiet, forget the 
comedy, and see only him.” 

“T understand that well enough,” said Pan Stanislav. 

And the spots on Mashko’s face increased and became 
blue from the frost, wherewith he had a look as stubborn 
as it was ugly. 

Meanwhile they arrived. Almost simultaneously squeaked 
the carriage bringing Gantovski, with Yamish and Vilkov- 
ski. When they alighted, these gentlemen saluted their op- 
ponents ; then the seven, counting the doctor, withdrew to 
the depth of the forest to a place selected on the preceding 
day by Kresovski. 

The drivers, looking at the seven overcoats outlined 
strangely on the snow, began to mutter to themselves. 

“Do you know what is going to happen?” asked one. 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 223 


“Ts it my first time ?” answered the other. 

“ Let the world grow polite; let fools go to fight!” 

Meanwhile the seven, clattering on in their heavy over- 
shoes, and blowing lines of white steam from their nostrils, 
went toward the other end of the forest. On the way, 
Yamish, somewhat against the rules binding in such eases, 
approached Pan Stanislav, and began, — 

‘¢T wished sincerely that my man should beg pardon of 
Pan Mashko, but under the conditions it is not possible.” 

“T proposed to Mashko, too, to tone down that note, but 
he would not.” 

“Then there is no escape. All this is immensely foolish, 
but there is no escape!” 

Pan Stanislav did not answer, and they walked on in 
silence. Pan Yamish began to speak again, — 

“ But I hear that Marynia Plavitski has received some 
inheritance ? ” 

“She has, but a small one.” 

“ And the old man?” 

“ He is angry that the whole property is not left to him.” 

Yamish tapped his forehead with his glove. “He has a 
little something here, that Plavitski; ” then, looking around, 
he said, “Somehow we are going far.” 

“ We shall be on the ground in a moment.” 

And they went on. The sun had risen above the under- 
growth; from the trees there fell bluish shadows on the 
snow; but more and more light was coming into the forest 
every instant. The crows and daws, hidden somewhere 
among the tree-tops, shook the snow, dry as down, and it 
fell without noise to the ground, forming under the trees 
little pointed piles. Everywhere there was immense silence 
and rest. Men alone were disturbing it to shoot at each other. 

They halted at last on the edge of the forest where it 
was clean. Then Yamish’s short discourse concerning the 
Superiority of peace over war was listened to by Mashko 
and Gantovski with ears hidden by fur collars. When 
Kresovski loaded the pistols, each made his choice; and 
the two, throwing their furs aside, stood opposite each 
other with the barrels of their weapons turned upward. 

Gantovski breathed hurriedly; his face was red, and his 
mustaches were in icicles. From his whole posture and face 
it was clear that the affair disconcerted him greatly; that 
through shame and force of will he controlled himself; and 
that, had he followed the natural bent of his feelings, he 


224 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


would have sprung at his opponent and smashed him with 
the butt of his pistol, or even with his fist. Mashko, who 
previously had feigned not to see his opponent, looked at 
him now with a face full of hatred, stubbornness, and con- 
tempt. His cheeks were all in spots. He mastered him- 
self more, however, than Gantovski; and, dressed ina long 
frock-coat, with a high hat on his head, with his long side- 
whiskers, he seemed too stiff, too much like an actor 
playing the role of a duelling gentleman. 

“He will shoot ‘the bear’ hke a dog,” thought Pan 
Stanislav. 

The words of command were heard, and two shots shook 
the forest stillness. Mashko turned then to Kresovski, and 
said coolly, — 

“‘T beg to load the pistols.” 

But at the same moment at his feet appeared a spot of 
blood on the snow. 

“You are wounded,” said the doctor, approaching quickly. 

“Perhaps; load the pistols, I beg.” 


At that moment he staggered, for he was wounded really. . 


The ball had carried away the very point of his kneepan. 
The duel was interrupted; but Gantovski remained some 
time yet on the spot with staring eyes, astonished at what 
had happened. 

After the first examination of the wound he approached, 
however, pushed forward by Yamish, and said as awk- 
wardly as sincerely, — 

“ Now I confess that I was not right in attacking you. I 
recall everything that I said, and I beg your pardon. You are 
wounded, but I did not wish to wound you.” After a moment, 
when he was going away with Yamish and Vilkovski, he 
was heard to say, “As I love God most sincerely, it was a 
pure accident ; I intended to fire over his head.” 

Mashko did not open his mouth that day. To the ques- 
tion of the doctor if the wound caused much pain, he merely 
shook his head in sign that it did not. 

Bigiel, who had just returned from Prussia with his 
pockets full of contracts, when he heard all that had 
happened, said to Pan Stanislav, — 

“™Mashko seems an intelligent man, but, as God lives, 
every one of us has some whim in his head. He, for 
example, has credit; he has many splendid business cases; 
he might have a considerable income, and make a fortune. 
But no, he wants to force matters, strain his eredit to the 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 295 


utmost, buy estates, give himself out as a great proprietor, 
a lord,—be God knows what, only not what he is. All 
this is wonderful, and the more so that it is so common. 
More than once | think that life in itself is not bad, but 
that allruin it through waut of mental balance, and certain 
devilish whims, — through a kind of wasp, which every 
one has behind his collar. I understand that a man wants 
to have more than he has, and to mean more than he 
means ; but why strive for it in fantastic fashion? JI am 
first to recognize energy and cleverness in Mashko; but, 
taking everything into consideration, he has something 
here, as God is true, he has.” 

Bigiel now tapped his forehead with his finger a number 
of times. 

Meanwhile Mashko, with set teeth, was suffering, since 
his wound, though not threatening life, was uncommonly 
painful. In the evening he fainted twice in presence of 
Pan Stanislav. Afterward, weakness supervened, during 
which that boldness of spirit which had upheld the young 
-advocate through the day gave way completely. When 
the doctor departed, after dressing the wound, Mashko lay 
quietly for a time, and then began, — 

“But I am in luck!” 

“Do not think of that,” answered Pan Stanislav; “thou 
wilt get more fever.” 

But Mashko continued, however, “Insulted, ruined, 
wounded, —all at one blow.” 

“T repeat to thee that this is no time to think of that.” 

Mashko rested his elbow on the pillow, hissed from pain, 
and said, — 

*‘Never mind; this is the last time that I shall converse 
with a decent man. One week or two from now I shall 
be of those whom people avoid. What do I care for this 
fever? There is something so unendurable in ruin so com- 
plete, in a wreck of fate so utter, that the first idiot, the 
first goose that comes along will say: ‘I knew that long 
ago; I foresaw that.’ So it is: all of them foresee every- 
thing after the event; and of him whom the thunderbolt 
has struck, they make in addition a fool, or a madman.” 

Pan Stanislav recalled Bigiel’s words at that moment. 
But Mashko, by a marvellous coincidence, spoke on in such 
fashion as if wishing to answer those words. 

“ And dost think that I did not give account to myself 
that I was going too sharply; that I was hurrying with 

15 


226 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


too much force; that I wanted to be something greater 
than I was; that I carried my nose too high? No one 
will render me that justice; but knowest thou that I said 
it to myself ? But I said to myself, too: ‘* It is needful to 
do this; this is the one way to rise to distinction. Maybe 
things are wrong, maybe life, in general, goes backward; 
but had it not been for that adventure unforeseen, and 
of unfathomable stupidity, I should have succeeded just 
because I was such as I was. If I had been a modest man, 
I should not have got Panna Kraslavski. With us it is 
necessary always to pretend something; and if the devils 
take me, it is not through my pride, but that blockhead.” 

“But how the deuce art thou to know surely that thy 
marriage will fail?” 

‘*My dear man, thou hast no knowledge of those women. 
They agreed on Pan Mashko through lack of something 
better, for Pan Mashko had good success. But if any 
shadow falls on my property, my position, my station, 
they will throw me aside without mercy, and then roll 
mountains on to me to shield themselves before the world 
of society. What knowledge hast thou of them? Panna 
Kraslavski is not Panna Plavitski.” 

A moment of silence followed, then Mashko spoke 
further, with a weakening voice: ‘‘She could have rescued 
me. For her I should have gone on another road,—a far 
quieter one. In such conditions Kremen would have been 
saved; the debt on it would have fallen away, as well as 
Plavitski’s annuity. I should have waded out. Dost 
thou know that, besides, I fell in love with her in student 
fashion? It eame so, unknown whence. But she chose 
rather to be angry with thee than love me. Now [ under- 
stand; there is no help for it.” 

Pan Stanislav, who did not relish this conversation, 
interrupted it, and spoke with a shadow of impatience, — 

“Tt astonishes me that a man of thy energy thinks every- 
thing lost, while it is not. Panna Plavitski is a past on 
which thou hast made a cross, by proposing to Panna 
Kraslavski. As to the present, thou wert attacked, it is 
true; but thou hast fought, thou wert wounded, but in 
such a way that in a week thou wilt be well; and finally, 
those ladies have not announced that they break with thee. 
Till thou hast that, black on white, thou hast no right to 
talk thus. Thou art sick, and that is why thou art reading 
funeral services over thyself prematurely. But I will tell 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 297 


thee another thing. It is for thee to let those ladies know 
what has happened. Dost wish, I will go to them to- 
morrow, then they will act as they please; but let them be 
informed by thy second, not by city gossips.” 

Mashko thought a while, and said: “1 wished to write 
in every case to my betrothed; but if thou go, it will be 
better.' I have no hope that she will hold to me, but it is 
needful to do what is proper. I thank thee. ‘Thou wilt 
be able to present the affair from the best side,—only not 
a word touching troubles of any kind. Thou must lessen 
the sale of the oak to zero, to a politeness which I wished 
to show thee. I thank thee sincerely. Say that Gantovski 
apologized.” 

“Hast thou some one to sit with thee?” 

“My servant andhis wite. The doctor will come again, 
and bring a surgeon. This pains me devilishly, but I am 
not ill.” 

“Then, till we meet again.” 

“Be well. I thank thee —thou art —” 

“Sleep soundly.” 

Pan Stanislav went out. Along the way he meditated 
on Mashko’s course, and meditated with a species of anger: 

“He is not of the romantic school; still he is inclined 
to pretend something of that sort. Panna Plavitski! he 
loved her—he would have gone by another road —she 
might have saved him!—this is merely a tribute to senti- 
mentality, and, besides, in false coin, since a month later 
he proposed to that puppet—for money’s sake! Maybe 
Lam duller-witted; I do not understand this, and do not 
believe in disappointments cured so easily. Had I loved 
one woman, and been disappointed, I do not think that I 
should marry another in a month. Devil take me if I 
should! He is right, however, that Marynia is of a 
different kind from Kraslavski. There is no need what- 
ever to discuss that; she is different altogether! different 
altogether !” 

And that thought was immensely agreeable to Pan 
Stanislav. When he reached home, he found a letter from 
Bukatski, who was in Italy, and a card from Marynia, full 
of anxiety and questions concerning the duel. There was 
a request to send news early in the morning of what 
had happened, especially to inform her if everything was 
really over, and if no new encounter was threatened. Pan 
Stanislav, under the influence of the idea that she was 


228 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


different from Panna Kraslavski, answered cordially, more 
cordially even than he wished, and commanded his servant 
to deliver the note at nine the next morning. Then he set 
about reading Bukatski’s letter, shrugging his shoulders 
from the very beginning. Bukatski wrote as follows: — 


May Sakya Muni obtain for thee blessed Nirvana! Besides this, 
tell Kaplaner not to forward my three thousand rubles to Florence, 
but to keep them at my order. ‘These days I have resolved to enter- 
tain the design of forming the plan of becoming a vegetarian. Dost 
note how decisive this is? Ifthe thought does not annoy me, if this 
plan becomes a determination, and the determination is not beyond 
my power, I shall cease to be a flesh-eating animal ; and life will cost 
me less money. ‘That is the whole question. As to thee, I beg thee 
to be satisfied with everything, for life is not worth fatigue. 

I have discovered why the Slavs prefer synthesis to analysis. It 
is because they are idlers, and analysis is laborious. A man can 
synthesize while smoking a cigar after dinner. For that matter, they 
are right in being idlers. It is comfortably warm in Florence, es- 
pecially on Lung-Arno. I walk along for myself and make a syn- 
thesis of the Florentine school. I have made the acquaintance here 
of an able artist in water-colors, — a Slav, too, who lives by art; but 
he proves that art is swinishness, which has grown up from a mer- 
eantile need of luxury, and from over-much money, which some pile 
up at the expense of others. In one word, art is, to his thinking, 
meanness and injustice. He fell upon me as upon a dog, and 
asserted that to be a Buddhist and to be occupied with art is the 
summit of inconsistency; but I attacked him still more savagely, 
and answered, that to consider consistency as something better than 
inconsistency was the height of miserable obscurantism, prejudices, 
and meanness. The man was astonished, and lost speech. I am 
persuading him to hang himself, but he doesn’t want to. Tell 
me, art thou sure that the earth turns around the sun, or isn’t this 
all a joke ? For that matter, it is all one to me! In Warsaw I 
was sorry for that child who died, and here too I think of her 
frequently. How stupid that was! What is Pani Emilia doing ? 
People have their réle in the world fixed beforehand, and her role 
came to her with wings and suffering. Why was she good? She 
would have been happier otherwise. As to thee, O man, show me 
one kindness. I beg thee, by all things, marry not. Remember 
that if thou marry, if thou havea son, if thou toil to leave him 
ad gst thou wilt do so only for this: that that son may be what 

am, irreparably so. Farewell burning energy, farewell mercantile 
house, commission firm, O transitory form, vicious toil, effort for 
money, future father of a family, rearer of children and trouble. 
Embrace for me Vaskovski. He, too, is a man of synthesis. May 
Sakya Muni open thy eyes to know that it is warm in the sun and 
cool in the shade, and to lie down is better than to stand! Thy 


BUuKATSKI. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 229 


“Hash!” thought Pan Stanislav. “All this is artificial, 
all self-deception “through a kind of exaggeration. But if 
a man accustoms himself to this, it will become in time a 
second nature to him, and, meanwhile, the devils take his 
reason; his energy and soul dec cay like a corpse. A man 
may throw himself headlong into such a hole as Mashko 
has, or into such a one as Bukatski. In both cases he will 
go under the ice. What the devil does it mean? Still 
there must be some healthy and normal life; only it is 
needful to have alittle common sense in the head. But for 
a man like Bigiel, it is not bad inthe world. He has a wife 
whom he loves, children whom he loves; he works like an 
ox. At the same time he has a great attachment for people, 
loves music and his violoncello, on which he plays in the 
moonlight, with his face raised toward the ceiling. It 
cannot be said that he is a materialist. No; in him one 
thing agrees with another somehow, and he is happy.” 

Pan Stanislav began to walk through the room, and look 
from time to time at Litka’s face, smiling from between 
the birches. The need of balancing accounts with his own 
self seized hold of him with increasing force. Like a 
merchant, he set about examining his debit and credit, 
which, for that matter, was not difficult. On the credit 
side of his life, his feeling for Litka once occupied the 
chief place; she was so dear to him in her time that 
ifa year before it had been said, “Take her as your own 
child,” he would have taken her, and considered that he 
had something to live for. But now this relation was only 
a remembrance, and from the rubric of happiness it had 
passed over to the rubric of misfortune. What was left? 
First of all, life itself; second, that mental dilettantism, 
which in every case is a luxury; further, the future, which 
rouses curiosity; further, the use of material things; ana 
finally, his commercial house. All this had its value; but 
Pan Stanislav saw that there was a lack of object in it. 
As to the commercial house, he was pleased with the 
successes which he experienced, but not with the kind of 
work which the house demanded; on the contrary, that kind 
of work was not enough for him, —it was too narrow, too 
poor, and angered him. On the other hand, dilettantism, 
books, the world of mind, —all had significance as an orna- 
ment of life, but could not become its basis. “ Bukatski,” 
said Pan Stanislav to himself, ‘Shas suk in this up to his 
ears; he wished to live with it, and has become weak, 


230 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


incompetent, barren. Flowers are good; but whoso wishes 
to breathe the odor of them exclusively will poison him- 
self.” In truth, Pan Stanislav did not need to be a great 
sage to see around him a multitude of people who were 
out of joint, whose health of soul mental dilettantism had 
undermined, — just as morphine undermines one’s health 
of body. 

This dilettantism had wrought much harm to him, too, 
if only in this, —that it had made him askeptic. He had 
been saved from grievous disease only by a sound organism, 
which felt the absolute need of expending its superfluous 
energy. But what will come later? Can he continue in 
that way? ‘To this Pan Stanislav answered now with a 
decisive No! Since the business of his house could not 
fill out his life, and since it was simply perilous to fill it 
out with dilettantism, it was necessary to fill it out with 
something else, —to create new worlds, new duties, to 
open up new horizons; and to do this, he had to do one 
thing, — to marry. 

On atime when he said this to himself, he saw before 
him a certain undefined form, uniting all the moral and 
physical requisites, but without a body and without a name. 
Now it was a real figure; it had calm blue eyes, dark hair, a 
mouth a trifle too large, and was called Marynia Plavitski. 
Of any one else there could not be even mention; and Pan 
Stanislav placed her before himself with such vividness 
that the veins throbbed in his temples with more life. He 
was perfectly conscious, however, that something was 
lacking then in his feeling for Mary nia, —namely, that 
around which the imagination lingers. which dares not ask 
anything, but hopes everything; which fears, trembles, 
kneels; which says to the loved woman, “At thy feet;” 
the love in which desire is at the same time worship, 
homage, —a feeling which adds a kind of mystic coloring 
to the relations of a man to a woman; which makes of the 
man, not merely a lover, but a follower. That had gone. 
Pan Stanislav, in thinking now of Marynia, thought 
soberly, almost insolently. He felt that he could go and 
take her, and have her; and if he did so, it would be for 
two reasons: first, because Marynia was for him a woman 
more attractive than all others; and second, reason com- 
manded him to marry, and to marry her. 

“She is wonderfully reliable,” ‘thought he; “there is 
nothing in her fruitless or dried up. Egotism has not 





ne 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 281 


destroyed the heart in her; and it is undoubted that such 
a one will not think merely of what belongs to her. She 
is honesty incarnate, duty incarnate; and in life the only 
need will be to prevent her from thinking too little of her- 
self. If reason commands me to marry, I should commit 
a folly, were I to look for another.” 

Then he asked whether, if he abandoned Marynia, he 
would not act dishonorably. lLitka had united them. 
Something in his heart revolted at the very thought of 
opposing the will and sacrifice of that child. If he wished, 
however, to act against that will, should he have borne 
himself as he had? No. In such an event he ought not 
to have shown himself at the Plavitskis’ since Litka’s 
death, nor have seen Marynia, nor kissed her hand, nor 
let himself be borne away by the current which had borne 
him, — by the power of events, perhaps, — but borne him 
so far that to-day he would disappoint Marynia, and fall 
in her eyes to the wretched position of a man who knows 
not himself what he wishes. For he would have to be 
blind not to see that Marynia considers herself his be- 
trothed; and that, if she were not disquieted by his silence 
so far, it was simply because she ascribed it to the mourn- 
ing which both had in their hearts for Litka. 

“Looking, then,” said Pan Stanislav, “from the side of 
reason and conservative instinct, from the side of sense and 
honor, I ought to marry her. Therefore what? Therefore 
I should be an imbecile if I hesitated, and did not consider 
the question as settled. It is settled.” 

Then he drew breath, and began to walk through the 
room. Under the lamp lay Bukatski’s letter. Pan Stanis- 
lav took it, and read from the place where his eyes fell by 
chance. 


“‘T beg thee, by all things, marry not. Remember that if thou 
marry, if thou have a son, if thou toil to leave him property, thou wilt 
do so only for this: that that son may be what I am.” 


“Here is a nice quandary for thee,” said Pan Stanislay, 
with a certain stubbornness. “I will marry. I will marry 
Marynia Plavitski; dost hear? I will gain property ; and 
if I have a son, I will not make of him a decadent; dost 
understand ? ” 

And he was pleased with himself. A little later he 
looked at Litka, and felt that a sudden emotion seized him 


232 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


A current of sorrow for her, and of feeling, rose with a new 
power in his heart. He began to converse with the child, 
as in important moments of life people speak usually with 
beloved dead, — 

“Thou art pleased, kitten? Is it not true?” asked he. 
And she smiled at him from among the birches painted by 
Marynia; she seemed to blink at him, and to answer, — 

“True, Pan Stas; true.” 

That evening, before going to bed, he took back from the 
servant the note which was to be given to Marynia in the 
morning, and wrote another still more affectionate, and in 
the following words, 





Dear Lapy, — Gantovski made a scene with Mashko — rather 
an awkward one—from which a duel came. Mashko is slightly 
wounded. His opponent begged his pardon on the spot. There 
will be no further results, save this: that I am still more convinced 
of how kind you are, and thoughtful and excellent ; and to-morrow, 
if you permit, I will come with thanks to kiss your beloved and dear 
hands. I will come in the afternoon; for, in the morning, after vis- 
iting my office, | must go to Pani Kraslavski’s, and then say farewell 
to Professor Vaskovski, though, were it possible, I should prefer to 
begin the day not with them. POLANYETSKI. 


After writing these words, he looked at the clock, and, 
though it was eleven already, he gave command to deliver 
the letter, not in the morning, but straightway. 

“Thou wilt go in through the kitchen,” said he to the 
servant ; “and, if the young lady is asleep, thou wilt leave 
1t. 

When alone, he said the following words to the lady, — 

“Thou art a very poor diviner, unless thou divine why I 
am coming to-morrow !” 





a 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 2338 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


Panrt Krastavski received Pan Stanislav with great 
astonishment, because of the early hour; but still she 
received him, thinking that he had come for some uncom- 
mon reason. He, on his part, without long introductions, 
told her what had happened, disguising at the same time 
only what was necessary for shielding Mashko from sus- 
picion of bankruptcy or unfavorable business. 

He noticed that the old lady, while he was talking, kept 
her green eyes — made, as it were, of stone, and devoid of 
glitter —fixed on him, and that no muscle of her face 
moved. Only when he had ended did she say, — 

“There is one thing in all this which I do not under- 
stand. Why did Pan Mashko sell the oak? That is no 
small ornament to any residence.” 

“Those oaks stand far from the house,” answered Pan 
Stanislav, “and injure the land, — for nothing will grow in 
the shade of them; and Pan Mashko is a practical man 
Besides, to tell the truth, we are old friends, and he did 
that through friendship for me. I am a merchant; I 
needed the oak, and Pan Mashko let me have all he could 
spare.” 

“Tn such an event, I do not understand why that young 
man —”’ 

“Tf you are acquainted with Pan Yamish,” interrupted 
Pan Stanislav, “he, because he lives near both Kremen and 
Yalbrykov, will explain to you that that young man is not 
of perfect mind, and is known as such in the whole neigh- 
borhood.” 

“In that case Pan Mashko was not obliged to fight a duel 
with him.” 

“In such matters,” answered Pan Stanislav, with a shade 
of impatience, “we have different ideas from ladies.” 

“You will permit me to say a couple of words to my 
daughter.” 

Pan Stanislav thought it time to rise and take farewell; 
but since he had come, as it were, on a reconnaissance, and 
wished to take some information to Mashko, he said, — 


234 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“Tf the ladies have any message to Pan Mashko, I am 
going to him directly.”’ 

“In a moment,” answered Pani Kraslavski. 

Pan Stanislav remained alone and waited rather long, so 
long indeed that he began to be impatient. At last both 
ladies appeared. Though her hair had not been dressed 
with sufficient care, the young lady, in a white chemisette 
anda sailor’s tie, seemed to Pan Stanislav quite beautiful, in 
spite of aslight inflammation of the eyes, and a few pimples 
on her forehead, which were powdered. There was about 
her acertain attractive languor, from which, having risen 
very late apparently, she had not been able yet to rouse 
herself, and a certain equally charming morning ecareless- 
ness. For the rest, there was no emotion on her bloodless 
face. 

After salutations were exchanged with Pan Stanislav, she 
said, with a cool, calm voice, — 

“Be so kind as to tell Pan Mashko that I was greatly 
pained and alarmed. Is the wound really slight ?” 

“ Beyond a doubt.” 

“T have begged mamma to visit Pan Mashko; I will take 
her, and wait in the carriage for news. Then I will go again 
for mamma, and so every day till Pan Mashko has recovered. 
Mamma is so kind that she consents to this.” 

Here a slight, barely evident blush passed over her pale 
face. To Pan Stanislav, for whom her words were an utter 
surprise, and whom they pierced with astonishment, she 
seemed then perfectly comely; and a moment later, when 
going to Mashko, he said to himself, — 

“ Well, the women are better than they seem. But they 
are two decanters of chilled water; still the daughter has 
some heart. Mashko did not know her, and he will have 
an agreeable surprise. The old woman will go to him, 
will see all those bishops and castellans with crooked noses 
over which Bukatski amused himself so much; but she will 
believe in Mashko’s greatness.” 

Meditating in this way, he found himself in Mashko’s 
house, and had to wait, for he came at the moment of dress- 
ing the wound. But barely had the doctor gone, when 
Mashko gave command to ask him to enter, and, without 
even a greeting, inquired, — 

“ Well, hast thou been there ? ” 

“ How art thou; how hast thou slept ?” 

“Well. But never mind — hast thou been there?” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 235 


“T have. I will tell thee briefly. In a quarter of an 
hour Pani Kraslavski will be here. The young lady told me 
to say that she would bring her mother, and would wait to 
hear how thou art; and to tell thee that she is greatly 
alarmed, that she is very unhappy, but thanks God that 
there is nothing worse. Thou seest, Mashko! I add, be- 
sides, that she is good-looking, and has attracted me. Now 
I am going, for I have no time to wait.” 

“Have mercy; wait a moment. Wait, my dear; I have 
not a fever, and if thou speak through fear —” 

“Thou art annoying,” said Pan Stanislav ; “I give thee my 
word that I tell the truth, and that thou hast spoken ill of 
Shy betrothed prematurely.” 

Mashko dropped his head on the pillow, and was silent 
for a time; then he said, as if to himself, — 

“ T shall be ready to fall in love with her really.” 

“That is well. Be in health; I am going to take farewell 
of Vaskovski.” 

But instead of going to Vaskovski, he went to the Pla- 
vitskis’, whom he did not find at home, however. Plavitski 
was never at home, and of Marynia they said that she had 
gone out an hour before. Usually when a man is going to 
a woman who rouses vivid interest in him, and makes up 
his mind on the way what to say to her, he has rather a 
stupid face if he finds that she is not at home. Pan Stan- 
islav felt this, and was vexed. He went to a greenhouse, 
however, bought a multitude of flowers, and had them sent 
to Marynia. When he thought of the delight with which 
she would receive them, and with what a beating heart she 
would wait for evening, he was so pleased that after dinner 
he dropped into Vaskovski’s in the very best humor. 

“JT have come to take farewell, Professor; when dost thou 
start on the journey ?” 

“ How art thou, my dear?” answered Vaskovski. “I had 
to delay fora couple of days; for, as thou seest, I am winter- 
ing various small boys here.” 

“Young Aryans, I suppose, who in hours of freedom 
draw purses out of pockets ?” 

“No, they are good souls; but I cannot leave them with- 
out care. I must seek out a successor who will live in my 
place.” 

“But who would roast himself here? How dost thou 
live in such heat ?” 

“ Because I sit without a coat; and wilt thou permit me 


236 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


not to put iton? Itis a little warm here ; but perspiration 
is wholesome, and these little feathered creatures crave 
heat.” 

Pan Stanislav looked around. In the room there were at 
least a dozen and a half of buntings, titmice, finches. Spar- 
rows, accustomed evidently to be fed, looked in in flocks 
through the window. The professor kept in his room only 
birds purchased of dealers; sparrows he did not admit, say- 
ing that if he did there would be no end to their numbers, 
and that it would be unjust to receive some and reject 
others. The chamber birds had cages fastened to the walls 
and the inner sash of the window, but went into them only 
at night; during daylight they flew through the chamber 
freely, filling it with twitter, and leaving traces on books 
and manuscripts, with which all the corners and the tables 
were filled. 

Some of the birds which had become very tame sat on 
Vaskovski’s head even. On the floor husks of hemp-seed 
eracked under one’s feet. Pan Stanislav, who knew that 
chamber thoroughly, still shrugged his shoulders, and said,— 

“ All this is very good, but that the professor lets them 
light and sing on his head; that, God knows, is too much. 
Besides, it is stifling here.” 

“That is the fault of Saint Francis of Assisi,’ answered 
Vaskovski, “for I learned from him to love these little 
birds. I have even a pair of doves, but they are home- 
stayers.” 

“Thou wilt see Bukatski, of course; I received a letter 
from him, — here it is.” 

“May I read it?” 

“T give it to thee for that very purpose.” 

Vaskovski read the letter, and said when he had finished, 
“JT have always liked this Bukatski; he is a good soul, 
but — he has a little something here!” Vaskovski began, 
to tap his forehead with his fingers. 

“This is beginning to amuse me,” exclaimed Pan 
Stanislav. “Imagine to thyself, Professor, for a certain 
number of days some one taps himself on the forehead and 
says of some one of our acquaintance, ‘ He has something 
here!’ A charming society!” 

“Tf it is a little so, it is a little so!” answered Vaskovski, 
with a smile. ‘“ And knowest thou what this is? It is the 
usual Aryan trouble of soul; and in us, as Slavs, there 
:s more of that than in the west, for we are the youngest 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 237 


Aryans, and therefore neither reason nor heart have settled 
yet into a balance. We are the youngest Aryans: we feel 
with more vividness; we take everything to heart more 
feverishly ; and we arr: unge ourselves to the practice of life 
with more passion. I have seen much; I have noticed this 
fora long time. What wonderful natures! Just look, for 
example, “the German students can carouse, — that does n’t 
hinder them from either working or fashioning themselves 
into practical people ; but let a Slav take this h ibit, and he 
is lost, he will do himself to death! And so with every- 
thing. A German will become a pessimist and write vol- 
umes on this, — that life is despair; but he will drink beer 
meanwhile, rear children, make money, cultivate his garden, 
and sleep under a feather tick. A Slav will hang himself, 
or ruin himself with mad life, with excess, smother himself 
in a swamp into which he will wade pur posely. My dear, 
I remember men who Byronized themselves to death. I 
have seen much; I have seen men who, for example, took 
a fancy to peasants, and ended with drinking vodka in 
peasant dramshops. ‘There is no measure with us, and there 
cannot be, for in us, to the excessive acceptance of every 
idea, are joined frivolousness and knowest what vanity. 
O my God, how vain we are! how we wish to push our- 
selves forward always, so that we may be admired and gazed 
at! Take this Bukatski: he has sunk in scepticism up to his 
ears in fact; in pessimism, Buddhism, decadency, and in what 
else besides — do I know ? —and in these too there is a 
chaos at present. He has sunk so deeply that those miasmas 
are really poisoning him; but dost thou think that with 
this he is not posing? What wonderful natures! those 
who are most sincere, who have the most vivid feelings, 
taking all things to heart most powerfully, —are at the same 
time comedians. When aman thinks of this, he loves them, 
but he wants to laugh and to weep.” 

Pan Stanislav recalled how during his first visit to 
Kremen he had told Marynia of his Belgian times, when, 
living with some young Be elgians, occupying himself with 
pessimism, he noticed finally that he took all these theo- 
ries far more to heart than the Belgians, and that, through 
this, these theories spoiled his life more. Hence he said 
now, — 

“Professor, thy speech is truthful. 1 have seen such 
things too, and the devils will take us all.” 

Vaskovski fixed his mystic eyes on the frosty window: 
panes, and said, — 


238 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“No; some one else will take us all. That hotness of 
blood, that capacity for accepting an idea, are the great 
basis of the mission which Christ has designed for the 
Slavs.” Here Vaskovski pointed to a manuscript stained 
by the birds, and said mysteriously, — 

“T am going with that; that is the labor of my life. 
Dost wish I will read from it ?” 

“ As God lives, I have n’t time; it is late already.” 

“True. It is growing dark. Then I will tell thee in 
brief words. Not only do I think, but I believe most pro- 
foundly, that the Slavs have a great mission.’ 

Here Vaskoyski halted, began to rub his forehead, and 
said, — 

«“s What a wonderful number, — ‘three.’ There is some 
mystery in it.” 

“Thou wert going to speak of a mission,” said Pan Stan- 
islav, disquieted. 

“Never fear; the one has connection with the other. 
There are three worlds in Europe: the Roman, the German, 
and the Slav. The first and second accomplished what 
they had todo. The future is for that third.” 

* And what has that third to do?” 

“Social conditions, justice, the relations of man to man, 
the life of individuals, and that which is called private life, 
are founded on Christian science, no matter what comes. 
The incoherence of men has deformed this science, but still 
everything stands on it. Only the first half of the problem 
is solved,—the first epoch. There are people who think 
that Christianity is nearing its end. No; the second 
epoch is about to begin. Christ is in the life of individuals, 
but not in history. Dost understand? To bring Him into 
history, to found on Him the relations of peoples, to create 
the love of our neighbor in the historical sense, — that is 
the mission which the Slav world has to accomplish. But 
the Slavs are deficient in knowledge yet; and the need is to 
open their eyes to this mission.” 

Pan Stanislav was silent, for he had nothing to answer. 

Vaskovski continued: “This is what I have been pon- 
dering over a lifetime, and have explained in this work.” 
Here he pointed to a manuscript. ‘This is the labor of 
my life. Here this mission is outlined.” 

“On which meanwhile the buntings are —” thought Pan 
Stanislav. “And surely it will be that way a long time.” 
But aloud he said, “And it is. thy hope, Professor, hai: 
when such a work is printed — 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 239 


“No; I hope nothing. I have alittle love, but I ama 
man too insignificant, too weak in mind. ‘This will vanish, 
as if some one had thrown a stone into water ; but there 
will be acircle. Let some chosen one come later on; for 
I know that what is predestined will not fail. He will not 
refuse the mission even if he wishes. There is no use in 
bending men from their predestination, nor in changing them 
by force. What is good ina different place may be bad in 
this, for God made us for another use. ‘The labor is vain. 
Vainly too wilt thou persuade thyself that thy only wish is 
to gain money; thou, like others, must follow the voice of 
predestination and nature.” 

“T am following it indeed, for I am going to marry; 
that is, if I be accepted.” 

Vaskovski embraced him. 

“T wish thee happiness! This is perfect! May God 
bless thee! I know that the little maid indicated it to thee. 
But remember how I told thee that she had something to 
do, and that she would not die till she had done it. May 
God give her light, and a blessing to both of you! Besides, 
Marynia is golden.” 

“And to thee, beloved Professor, a happy journey and a 
successful mission ! ” 

“ And to thee, thy wish for thyself.” 

“What do I wish?” asked Pan Stanislav, joyfully. 
“ Well, so, half a dozen little missionaries.” 

“Ah rogue! thou wert always a rogue!” answered Vas- 
kovski. “But fly off, fly off; I will visit thee once more.” 

Pan Stanislav flew out, sat on a droshky, and gave com- 
mand to take him to the Plavitskis’. On the road he was 
arranging what to say to Marynia; and he prepared a little 
speech, partly sentimental, and partly sober, as befits a 
positive man who has found really that which he was seek- 
ing, but who also is marrying through reason. Evidently 
Marynia looked for him much later; for there was no light 
in the chamber, though the last gleam of twilight was 
quenched. Pan Stanislav, for a greeting, began to kiss both 
her hands, and, forgetting completely his wise introduc- 
tion, asked in a voice somewhat uncertain and excited, — 

“ Have you received the flowers and the letter ? ” 

“T bave.” 

“ And did you guess why I sent them?” 

Marynia’s heart beat with such force that she could not 
answer. 


240 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Pan Stanislay inquired further, with a still more broken 
voice, — 

“Do you agree to Litka’s wish, — do you want me?” 

“T do,” answered Marynia. 

Then he, in the feeling that it was proper to thank her, 
sought words in vain; but he pressed her hands more firmly 
to his lips, and, holding them both, drew her gently nearer 
and nearer. Suddenly a flame seized him; he put his arms 
around her, and began to seek her lips with his own. But 
Marynia turned away her head so that he could kiss only 
the hair on her temples. For a while only their hurried 
breathing was heard in the darkness; at last Marynia 
wrested herself from his arms. 

A few moments later the servant brought a light. Pan 
Stanislav, recovering himself, was alarmed at his own bold- 
ness, and looked into Marynia’s eyes with disquiet. He 
was sure that he had offended her, and was ready to beg 
her forgiveness. But he saw with wonder that there were 
no traces of anger in her face. Her eyes were downcast, 
her cheeks flushed, her hair disarranged somewhat; it was 
evident that she was disturbed and, as it were, dazed, but 
withal only penetrated with the perfect sweetness of that 
fear which comes to a woman who is loved, and who, in 
passing over the new threshold, feels that she must yield 
something there, but who passes over and yields because 
she wishes. She loves, and she is obliged to yield in view 
of the rights which she accords to the man. 

But a vivid feeling of gratitude passed through Pan 
Stanislav at sight of her. It seemed to him then that 
he loved her as he had loved of old, before Litka’s death. 
He felt also that in that moment he could not be too deli- 
cate nor too magnanimous; hence, taking her hand again, 
he raised it to his lips with great respect, and said, — 

“T know that I am not worthy of you; there is no dis- 
cussion on that point. God knows that I shall always do 
for you what is in my power.” 

Marynia looked at him with moist eyes and said, “ It 
only you are happy.” 

“Ts it possible not to be happy with you? I saw 
that from the first moment at Kremen. But afterward, 
you know, everything was spoiled. I thought you would 
marry Mashko, and how I worried —” 

“T was angry, and I beg forgiveness —my dear — Pan 
Stas.” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 241 


“This very day the professor said, ‘ Marynia is gold,’ ” 
exclaimed Pan Stanislav, with great ardor. “This is true! 
all say the same —not only gold, but a treasure — a very 
precious one.” 

Her kindly eyes began to smile at him: “ Maybe a heavy 
one.” 

“Tet not your head ache over that. I have strength 
enough; I shall be able to bear it. Now at least I have 
something to live for.” 

“ And I,” answered Marynia. 

“Do you know that I have been here already to-day ? I 
sent chrysanthemums later. After yesterday’s letter to you, 
I said to myself, ‘That is simply an angel, and I should 
lack, not only heart, but common-sense to delay any 
longer.’ ” 

“T was so alarmed about that duel, and so unhappy. 
But is it all over now ?” 

“T give you my word, most thoroughly.” 

Marynia wanted to make further inquiries, but at that 
moment Playitski came. They heard him cough a little, 
put away his cane, and remove his overcoat; he opened the 
door then, and, seeing them alone, said, — 

“So you are sitting all by yourselves ? ” 

But Marynia ran up to him, and placing her hands on his 
shoulders, and putting forth her forehead for a kiss, said, — 

“ As betrothed, papa.” 

Plavitski stepped back a little and inquired, “ What dost 
thou say ?” 

“T say,” answered she, looking quietly into his eyes, 
“that Pan Stanislav wishes to take me, and that I am very 
happy.” 

Pan Stanislav approached, embraced Plavitski heartily, 
and said, “I do with uncle’s consent and permission.” 

But Plavitski exclaimed, “ Oh, my child!” and, advanc- 
ing with tottering step to a sofa, he sat on it heavily. 
“Wait a moment,” said he, with emotion. “It will pass — 
do not mind me — my children! If that is needed, I bless 
you with my whole heart.” 

And he blessed them; wherewith still greater emotion 
mastered him, for, after all, he loved Marynia really. The 
voice stuck in his throat repeatedly; and the two young 
people heard only such broken expressions as, for example, 
“ Some corner near you — for the old man, who worked all 
his life — an only child — an orphan.” 


249 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


They pacified him together, and pacified him so well 
that half an hour later Plavitski struck Pan Stanislav on 
the shoulder suddenly, and said, — 

“Oh robber! Thou wert thinking of Marynia, and I 
was thinking thee a littlhe—”’ He finished the rest in Pan 
Stanislav’s ear, who grew red with indignation, and 
answered, — 

‘““How could uncle suppose such a thing? If any one 
else had dared to say that—” 

“Well, well, well! ” answered Plavitski, smiling ; “ there 
is no smoke without fire.” 

That evening Marynia, taking farewell of Pan Stanislav, 
asked, — 

* You will not refuse me one thing ? ” 

* Nothing that you command.” 

“T have said long to myself that if a moment like the 
present should come, we would go to Litka together.” 

“Ah, my dear lady,” answered Pan Stanislav; and she 
continued, — 

“ T know not what people will say; but what do we care 
for the world — what indeed ?” 

“Nothing. I am thankful to you from my heart and 
soul for the thought — My dear lady —my Marynia !” 

“T believe that she looks at us and prays for us.” 

“Then she is our little patroness.” 

“ Good-night.” 

“ Good-night.” 

“Till to-morrow.” 

“ Till to-morrow.” said he, kissing her hands, — “ till after 
to-morrow, daily;” and here he added in a low voice, 
“ Until our marriage.” 

“ Yes,” answered Marynia. 

Pan Stanislav went out. In his head and in his heart 
he felt a great whirl of feelings, thoughts, impressions, 
above which towered one great feeling, — that something 
unheard of in its decisiveness had happened; that his fate 
had been settled; that the time of reckoning, of wavering 
and changing, had passed; that he must begin a new life. 
And that feeling was not unpleasant to him, — nay, it verged 
ona kind of delight, especially when he remembered how 
he had kissed Marynia’s hair and temples. That which 
was lacking in his feelings shrank and vanished almost 
utterly in this remembrance; and it seemed to Pan Stanis- 
lav that he had found everything requisite to perfect happi- 


> oo eee 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 2438 


ness. “TI shall never grow sated with this,” thought he; and 
it seemed to him simply impossible that he should. He 
remembered then the goodness of Marynia, and how re- 
lable she was ; how on such a heart and character he might 
build; how in living with her nothing could ever threaten 
him; how she would not trample on any quality of his, 
nor make it of no avail; how she would receive as gold 
that which in him was gold; how she would live for him, 
not for herself. And, meditating in this way, he asked 
what better could he tind? and he wondered indeed at his 
recent hesitation. Still he felt that what was coming was 
achange so gigantic, so immensely decisive, that some- 
where at the bottom, in the deepest corner of his soul, 
there was roused a kind of alarm before this unknown 
happiness. But he did not hesitate. “I am neither a 
coward nor an imbecile,” thought he. “It is necessary to 
go ahead, and I will go.” 

Returning home, he looked at Litka; and immediately 
there opened before him, as it were, a new, clear horizon. 
He thought that he might have children, have such a 
bright dear head as this — and with Marynia. At the very 
thought his heart began to beat with greater life, and to the 
impulse of thoughts was joined such a solace of life as he 
had not known previously. He felt almost perfectly happy. 
Looking by chance at Bukatski’s letter, which he took from 
his pocket before undressing, he laughed so heartily that 
the servant looked in with astonishment. Pan Stanislav 
wished to tell him that he was going to marry. He fell 
asleep only toward morning, but rose sprightly and fresh; 
after dressing, he flew to his office to announce the news 
to Bigiel at the earliest. 

Bigiel embraced him, then, with his usual deliberation, 
proceeded to consider the affair, and said finally, — 

«“ Reasoning the matter over, this is the wisest thing 
that thou hast done in life;” then, pointing to a box of 
papers, he added, “Those contracts ought to be profitable, 
but thine is still better.” 

“Tsn’t it ?” exclaimed Pan Stanislav, boastfully. 

“Twill fly to tell my wife,” said Bigiel, “ for I cannot con- 
tain myself ; but gothou home, and go for good. I will take 
thy place till the wedding, and during the honeymoon.” 

“Very well; I will hurry to see Mashko, and then 
Marynia and I will go to Litka.” 

“ That is due from you both to her.” 





244 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Pan Stanislav bought more flowers on the way, added a 
note to them that he would come soon, and dropped in to 
see Mashko. Mashko was notably better, under the care 
of Pani Kraslavski, and was looking for her arrival every 
moment. When he had heard the news, he pressed Pan 
Stanislav’s hand with emotion, and said, — 

“T will tell thee only one thing, —I do not know 
whether she will be happy with thee, but certainly thou 
wilt be happy with her.” 

“Because women are better than men,” answered Pan 
Stanislav. “After what has happened to thee, I hope that 
thou art of this opinion.” 

“T confess that to this moment I cannot recover from 
astonishment. They are both better, and more mysterious. 
Imagine to thyself—” Here Mashko halted, as if hesi- 
tating whether to continue. 

“What?” inquired Pan Stanislav. 

“Well, thou art a discreet man, and hast given me, 
besides, such proofs of friendship that there may not be 
secrets between us. Imagine, then, that yesterday, after 
thy departure, I received an anonymous letter. Here, as 
thou art aware, the noble custom of writing such letters 
prevails. In the letter were tidings that Papa Kraslavski 
exists, is alive, and in good health.” 

“Which, again, may be gossip.” 

“But also may not be. He lives, probably, in America. 
I received the letter while Pani Kraslavski was here. I 
said nothing; but after a time, when she had examined 
those portraits, and began to inquire of my more distant 
family relations, I asked her, in turn, how long she had 
been a widow. She answered, — 

‘** My daughter and I have been alone in the world nine 
years; and those are sad events, of which I do not wish 
to speak to-day.’ 

“Observe that she did not say directly when her husband 
died.” 

“And what dost thou think?” 

“T think that if papa is alive, he must be that kind of 
figure of which people do not speak, and that in truth © 
those may be ‘sad events.’” 

“The secret would have come out long ago.” 

“Those ladies lived abroad some years. Who knows? 
That, however, will not change my plans in any way. If | 
Pan Kraslavski is living in America, and does not return, 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 245 


he must have reasons; it is as if he were not in the world, 
then. -In fact, I am gaining the hope now that my mar- 
riage will come to pass, for I understand that when people 
have something to hide, they exact less.” 

“Pardon my curiosity,” said Pan Stanislav, taking his 
hat; “but with me it is a question of my money, and now 
touching the Kraslavskis. Dost thou know surely that 
these ladies have money?” 

“It seems that they have much; still, I am playing 
against a card somewhat hidden. It is likely that they 
have much ready money. The mother told me repeatedly 
that her daughter would not need to look to her husband’s 
property. I saw their safe; they keep a big house. I 
know nearly all the money-lenders—Jews and non-Jews 
—in Warsaw, and I know surely that these ladies are not 
in debt a copper to any one; as thou knowest thyself, they 
have a nice villa not far from the Bigiels. They do not 
live on their capital, for they are too prudent.” 

“Thou hast no positive figures, however?” 

“T tried to get them, but in roundabout fashion. Not 
being too certain of my connection with the ladies, I could 
not insist overmuch. It was given me to understand that 
there would be two hundred thousand rubles, and perhaps 
more.” 

Pan Stanislav took leave, and on the way to the Pla- 
vitskis’ thought, “All this is a kind of mystery, a kind of 
darkness, a kind of risk. I prefer Marynia.” 

Half an hour later he was driving with Marynia to the 
cemetery, to Litka. The day was warm, as in spring, but 
gray; the city seemed sullen and dirty. In the cemetery 
the melting snow had slipped in patches to the ground 
from the graves, and covered the yellow, half-decayed 
grass. From the arms of crosses and leafless tree-branches 
large drops were falling, which, borne from time to time 
by gusts of warm wind, struck the faces of Pan Stanislav 
and Marynia. These gusts pulled Marynia’s dress, so that 
she had to hold it. They stopped at last before Litka’s 
grave. 

And here all was wet, sloppy, gloomy, half-stripped of 
the melting snow. The thought that that child, once so 
cared for, so loved, and so petted, was lying in that damp 
dungeon darkness, could hardly find a piace in Pan Stanis- 
lav’s head. 

“All this may be natural,” thought he; “but it is not 


246 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


possible to be reconciled with death.” And, in truth, 
whenever he visited Litka, he returned from the cemetery 
in a kind of irrepressible rebellion, with a species of pas- 
sionate protest in his soul. These thoughts began to rend 
him in that moment also. It seemed to him simply ter- 
rible to love Litka, and to reconcile his love with the knowl- 
edge that a few steps lower down she is lying there, black 
and decaying. “Iought not to come,” said he to himself, 
“for I grow mad, lose my head here, and lose every 
basis of life.” But, above all, he suffered, for, if it is 
impossible not to think of death, it is equally impossible 
to explain it; hence everything touching it, which comes 
to the head, is, in so far as a man does not stretch forth 
his hand toward simple faith, at once despairing and 
shallow, trivial and common. “For me there is a greater 
question here than that of existence itself, but I am only 
able to answer with a commonplace. A perfectly vicious 
circle!” 

And it was true; for if he considered, for example, that 
at the first thought of death everything becomes smoke, 
and he felt that unfortunately it does, he felt at the same 
time that thousands of people had come to that thought 
before he had, and that no one had found in it either 
solace or even such satisfaction as the discovery of a truth 
gives. Everything that he could say to himself was at 
once terrifying and petty. It was easy for him to under- 
stand that the whole life of man, general history, all phi- 
losophies. are at bottom merely a struggle with incessant 
death, —a struggle despairing, a struggle utterly senseless, 
and at the same time infinitely foolish and devoid of object, 
for it is lost in advance. But such reasoning could not 
bring him any comfort, since it was merely the confirma- 
tion of a new vicious circle. 

For if the one object of all human efforts is life, and the 
only result death, the nonsense passes measure, and simply 
could not be accepted, were it not for that loathsome and 
pitiless reality, which turns beings beloved and living into 
rotten matter. 

Pan Stanislav, during every visit to the cemetery, 
poisoned himself with such thoughts. To-day, while 
going, he thought that the presence of Marynia would 
liberate him from them; meanwhile, rather the opposite 
happened. Litka’s death, which had broken in him trust 
in the sense and moral object of life, undermined in him 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 247 


also that first, former love for Marynia, which was so 
naive and free of doubt; now, when with Marynia, he was 
standing at Litka’s grave, when that death, which had begun 
to be only a memory, had become again a thing almost 
tangible, its poisoning effect was increasing anew. Again 
it seemed to him that all life, consequently love, too, is 
merely an error, and the processes of life utte rly useless 
and vain. If above life there is neither reason nor mercy, 
why toil, why love and marry? Is it to have children, 
become attached to them with every drop of one’s blood, 
and then look on helplessly, while that blind, stupid, 
insulting, brutal force chokes them, as a wolf chokes a 
lamb, and come to their graves, and think that they are 
mouldering in damp and darkness ? See, Litka is down 
there. 

A day wonderfully gloomy only strengthened the bitter- 
ness of these feelings. At times, during his previous 
visits, the cemetery had seemed to Pan Stanislav a kind 
of great void in which life was dissolving, but in which 
every misfortune, too, was dissolving, — something enor- 
mously dreamy, soothing. ‘To-day there was no rest in it. 
Pieces of snow fell from the trees and gravestones; ravens 
pushed about among the wet trees with their croaking. 
Sudden and strong blasts of wind hurled drops of moisture 
from the branches, and, driving them about, produced a 
certain desperate struggle around the stone crosses, which 
stood firm and indifferent. 

Just then Marynia ceased praying, and said, with that 
slightly suppressed voice with which people speak in 
cemeteries, — 

“Now her soul must be near us.” 

Pan Stanislav made no answer; but he thought first that 
he and Marynia were beings as if from two distinct worlds, 
and then that if there were even a particle of truth in what 
she said, all his mental struggles would be less important 
than that melting snow. “Tn such ease,” said he to him- 
self, “there is dying and there are cemeteries, but there 
is simply no death.’ 

Marynia began to place on the grave immortelles, which 
she had bought at the gate, and he to think eee 
rather by the aid of his impressions than his ideas, “In 
my world there is no answer to any thing; | there are only 
vicious circles, which lead to the precipice.” 

And this struck him, — that if such ideas of death as 


248 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Marynia had, did not come from faith, or if they had been 
unknown altogether, and if all at once some philosopher 
had formulated them as a hypothesis, the hypothesis would 
be recognized as the most genial of the genial, because it 
explains everything, gives an answer to questions, gives 
light, not only to life, but to death, which is darkness. 
Mankind would kneel with admiration before such a phi- 
losopher and such a scientific theory. 

On the other hand, he felt that still something of Litka 
was there with them. She herself was falling into dust, 
but something had survived her; there remained, as it 
were, currents of her thought, of her will, of her feeling. 
This, —that she had brought him to Marynia; that they 
were betrothed; that they were then standing at her grave; 
that they were to be united; that their lives would go on 
together; that they would have children, who in their 
turn would live and love and increase, — what was that, 
if not such a current, which, coming forth from that child, 
might go on and on through eternity, renewing itself in an 
endless chain of phenomena? How then understand that 
from a mortal being should issue an immortal and cease- 
less energy? Marynia, in the simplicity of her faith, had 
found an answer; Pan Stanislav had not. 

And still Marynia was right. Litka was with them. 
Through Pan Stanislav’s head there flew at that moment 
a certain hypothesis, dim, and not fixed in close thought 
yet, —a hypothesis, that, perhaps, all which man thinks 
during life, all that he wishes, all that he loves, is a hun- 
dred times more intangible, a hundred times more subtile, 
than ether, from which rises an astral existence, conscious 
of itself, either eternal or successively born into beings 
more and more perfect, more subtile, on to infinity. And 
it seemed to bim that atoms of thought and feeling might 
collect into a separate individuality, specially because they 
came forth from one brain or one heart; that they are 
related,— hence tend to one another with the same mys- 
terious principle by which physical elements combine to 
form physical individualities. 

At present he had not time to meditate over this, but it 
seemed to him that he had caught something, that in the 
veil before his eyes, he saw, as it were, an opening that 
might turn out to be a deception; but at the moment, when 
he felt that still Litka was with them, he thought that her 
presence could be understood only in that manner. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 249 


Just then some funeral came, for, in the tower, which 
stood in the middle of the cemetery, the bell began to 
sound. Pan Stanislav gave Marynia his arm, and they 
went towards the gate. On the way Marynia, thinking 

evidently more about Litka, said, — 

“Now I am certain that we shall be happy.” 

And she leaned more on Pan Stanislav’s arm, for the 
gusts of wind had become so violent that it was difficult 
for her to resist them. One of these carried her veil 
around his neck. Reality began to call to him. He 
pressed the arm of the living woman to his side, and felt 
that loving, if it cannot ward away death, can at least 
harmonize life. 

When they were seated in the carriage, he took Marynia’s 
hand, and did not let it go during the whole way. At 
moments solace returned to him almost perfectly, for he 
thought that that maiden, true and kind to the core of her 
nature, would be able to make good what was lacking in 
his feeling, and revivify in him that which was palsied. 
“My wife! my wife!” repeated he, in mind, looking at 
her; and her honest, clear eyes answ ered, “Thine.” 

When they arrived at the house, Plavitski had not 
returned from his walk before dinner; they were all by 
themselves then. Pan Stanislav sat down by her side, 
and under the influence of those thoughts which had passed 
through his head on the way, he said, — 

“You declared that Litka was with us; that is true. I 
have always returned from the cemetery as if cut down 
but it is well that we were there.” 

“Tt is; for we went as if for a blessing,” said Marynia. 

**T have that same impression; and, besides, it seems to 
me as if we were united already, or, at least, were nearer 
than before.” 

“True; and this will be both a sad and a pleasant 
remembrance.” 

He took her hand again, and said,— 

“Tf you believe that we shall be happy, why defer happi- 
ness? My kind, my best, I, too, trust that it will be well 
with us; let us not defer the day. We have to begin a 
new life; let us begin it promptly.’ 

“Make the decision. Iam yours with all my soul.” 

Then he drew her toward him, as he had the day before, 
and began to seek her lips with his lips; and she, whether 


250 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


under the influence of the thought that his rights were 
greater on that day, or under the influence of awakening 
thoughts, did not turn her head away any more, but, half 
closing her eyes, she herself gave him her lips, as if they 
had been thirsty a long time. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 251 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


For Pan Stanislav began now the period of ante-nuptial 
cares and preparations. He had, it is true, a dwelling 
furnished for more than a year, —that is, from a period 
before he knew Marynia. At that time he made no denial 
when Bukatski laughed at the lodgings, seeing in them a 
proof of how anxious his friend was to marry. “ Yes,” 
said he; “I have property enough to permit this. I think, 
too, that I am doing something toward it, and that my 
plans are growing real.” 

Bukatski said this was prevision worthy of praise, and 
wondered that a man of such foresight did not engage also 
a nurse and a midwife. At times conversation of this 
kind ended in a quarrel, for Pan Stanislav could not let 
any one deny him sound judgment in worldly matters. 
Bukatski affirmed that it was bird romance, worthy of a 
bunting, to start with building a poetic nest. One friend 
contended that there could be no wiser method than to 
build a cage, if you want a bird; the other retorted that 
if the bird were not found yet, and the chase was uncer- 
tain, the cage was a joke on one’s appetite. It ended with 
allusions to the slim legs of Bukatski, which, for him, 
made the chase after birds of all kinds impossible, even 
though they were wingless. Bukatski, on such occasions, 
fell into excellent humor. 

Now, however, when the cage was ready, and the bird 
not only caught, but willing, there remained so much to 
be done that Pan Stanislav was seized more than once by 
surprise that an act so simple by nature as marriage, 
should be so complex in civilized societies. It seemed to 
him that if no one has the right to look into the moral 
side of the connection, since it is the outcome of genuine 
free-will, the formal side should be looked at still less. 

But he thought so because he was not a law-giver, and 
was an impulsive man made impatient by the need of 
getting “papers.” Once he had resolved on marriage, he 
ceased.to think or to analyze, and hastened, as a man of 
action, to execute. 


252 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


He was even filled more than once with pride, on com- 
paring himself with such a man, for instance, as Plo- 
shovski, whose history had been circling from mouth to 
mouth in society, before people had begun to learn it from 
his diary. ‘But I am of different metal,” thought Pan 
Stanislav, with a certain satisfaction. At moments, again, 
when he recalled Ploshovski’s figure, his noble, delicate, 
and also firmly defined profile, his refinement, subtlety, 
and mental suppleness, his rare gift of winning people, 
especially women, it occurred to him that he, Polanyetski, 
is a less refined type, less noble, and, in general, a man cut 
from ruder materials. But to this he answered that evi- 
dently, in the face of conditions in life and the resistance 
required by it, too much refinement is simply fatal to mind 
as well as body. In himself he saw also far more ability 
for living. “Finally,” said he, “I can be of some service, 
while he would have been gocd only on social shelves with 
curiosities. Jam able to win bread; he was able only to 
make pellets out of bread when baked. I know how, and 
I know well how, to color cotton; he only knew how to 
color women’s cheeks. But what a difference between us 
with reference to women! ‘That man over-analyzed his 
life and the life of the woman whom he loved; he de- 
stroyed her and himself by not being able to escape from 
the doubt whether he loved her sufficiently. I, too, have 
doubts whether my love is perfect; but I take my little 
woman, and should be an imbecile, not a man, to fear the 
future, and fail to squeeze from it in simple fashion what 
good and happiness it will let me squeeze.” 

Here Pan Stanislav, though he had forsworn analysis, 
began to analyze, not himself, it is true, but Marynia. 
He permitted this, however, only because he. foresaw cer- 
tainly favorable conclusions; he understood that, in caleu- 
lating the future of two people, good-will on one side is not 
sufficient, and becomes nothing, if good-will fails on the 
other. But he was convinced that in taking Marynia he 
was not taking a dead heart. Marynia had brought to the 
world not only an honest nature, but from years of child- 
‘ hood she had been in contact with work and with condi- 
tions in which she was forced to forget herself, so as to 
think of others. Besides, there was above her the memory 
of a mother, a kind of endless blessing from beyond the 
grave, —a mother whose caimness, candor, and upright- 
ness, whose life, full of trials, were remembered to the 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 253 


present with the utmost respect, throughout the whole 
region of Kremen. Pan Stanislav knew this, and was 
persuaded that, building on the heart and character of 
Marynia, he was building on a foundation well-nigh im- 
movable. More than once he recalled the words of a 
woman, an acquaintance and friend of his mother’s, who, 
when some one asked her whether she was more anxious 
about the future of her sons than her daughters, answered, 
“I think only of my sons; for my daughters, in the worst 
case, can be only unhappy.” 

So it is! School and the world rear sons, and both 
may make them scoundrels; daughters, in whom the home 
ingrafts honorableness, can, in the worst case, be only 
unhappy. Pan Stanislav understood that this was true 
with regard to Marynia. So that if he analyzed her, his 
analysis was rather the examination of a jeweller and his — 
admiration for his gems, than a scientific method intended 
to reach results unknown and unexpected. 

Still he quarrelled once with Marynia very seriously, 
because of a letter from Vaskovski, which Pan Stanislav 
received from Rome a few weeks after the professor’s 
departure, and which he read in its integrity to Marynia. 
This letter was as follows: — 


My Dear, —TI am lodging at Via Tritone, Pension Frangaise. 
Visit my Warsaw lodgings; see if Snopchinski looks after my little 
boys properly, and if the birds of Saint Francis have seeds and water 
in plenty. When spring comes, it will be needful to open the windows 
and cages; whichever bird wishes to stay, let it stay, and whichever 
one wishes to go, let it fly. The boys of the genus homo sapiens 
should have good food, since I left money therefor, and besides little 
moralizing, but much love. Snopchinski is a worthy man, but a 
hypochondriac. He says this comes from snows. When he is at- 
tacked by what he calls “chandra,” he looks for whole weeks on his 
boots, and is silent; but one must talk with little boys, to give them 
confidence. This is all that touches Warsaw. 

I am printing here in French, in the typography of the journal 
“T/Italie,” that work of mine which I discussed with thee. They 
langh at my French a little, and at me, but I am used to that. 
Bukatski came here. He is a good, beloved fellow! he has grown 
strange to the last degree, and says that he drags his feet after him, 
though I have not noticed it. He loves both Marynia and thee, and 
indeed every one, though he denies it. But when he begins to talk, 
one’s ears wither. May the Lord God bless thee, dear boy, and thy 
honest Marynia! I should like to be ai thy wedding, but I know not 
whether I shall finish my work before Easter ; listen, therefore, now 
to what I tell thee, and know that I write this letter to that end. Do 


254 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


not think that the old man is talking just to talk. Thou knowest, be- 
sides, that I have been a teacher ; that the inheritance from my brother 
freed me from that occupation ; that [ have had experience and have 
seen things. If ye have children, do not torture them with knowl- 
edge ; let them grow up as God wills. I might stop here; but thou 
art fond of figures, hence I will give thee figures. A little child has 
as many hours of labor as a grown man in office, with this difference, 
that the man talks during office hours with his colleagues, or smokes 
cigarettes ; the child must strain its attention continually, or lose the 
clew of lessons, and cease to understand what is said to it. The 
man goes home when his work is done; the child must prepare for 
the following day, which takes four hours from a capable child, from 
one less capable six. Add to this, that poorer pupils give lessons 
frequently, the rich take them, which, added, gives twelve hours. 
Twelve hours’ labor for a child! Dost understand that, my dear ? 
Canst thou realize what sickly natures must grow up in such condi- 
tions, — natures out of joint, inclined to the wildest manias, crooked, 
wilful? Dost thou understand how we are filling cemeteries with 
our children, and why the most monstrous ideas find supporters ? 
Ah, at present they are limiting the hours of labor in factories even 
for grown people, but touching children at school philanthropy is 
silent. Oh, but that is a field! that is a service to be rendered; that 
is a coming glory and sainthood. Do not torture thy children with 
learning, I beg thee—and I beg Marynia; promise me both of 
you. Ido not speak just to speak, as Bukatski says sometimes, but 
I speak from the heart; and this is the greatest reform for which 
future ages are waiting, the greatest after the introduction of Christ 
into history. Something wonderful happened to me in Perugia a 
few days since, but of that I will tell thee sometime, and now I em- 
brace both of you. 


Marynia listened to this letter, looking at the tips of her 
shoes, like that Snopchinski of whom the Professor wrote. 
But Pan Stanislav laughed, and said, — 

“Have you ever heard anything like this? It is long 
before our marriage ; but he is lamenting over our children, 
and takes the field on their behalf. This is somewhat the 
history of my nest.” 

After a while he added, “To tell the truth, the fault is 
mine; for I made him various promises.” And, inclining 
so that he could see Marynia’s eyes, he asked, “ But what 
do you say to this letter ? ” 

Pan Stanislav, inquiring thus, had chanced on that un- 
happy moment when a man is not himself, and acts not in 
accordance with his own nature. He was rather a harsh 
person generally, but not brutal, and at times was even 
capable of delicate acts, really womanlike. But now, in his 
look and in the question directed to a young lady so 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 255 


mimosa-like as Marynia, there was something simply 
brutal. She knew as well as others that after marriage 
come children; but this seemed to her something indefinite, 
not to be mentioned, or if mentioned, mentioned in allu- 
sions as delicate as lace, or in a moment of emotion, with 
beating heart, with loving lips at the ear, with solemnity, 
—as touching what is most sacred in a mutual future. 
Hence Pan Stanislav’s careless tone outraged and pained 
her. She thought, “ Why does he not understand this ? ” 
and she in turn acted not in accordance with her nature; 
for, as happens frequently with timid persons in moments 
of bitterness and confusion, they exhibit greater anger than 
they feel. 

* You should not treat me in this way!” cried she, indig- 
nantly. “ You should not speak to me in this way! ” 

Pan Stanislav laughed again with feigned gayety. 

“Why are you angry ? ” inquired he. 

“You do not act with me as is proper.” 

“T do not understand the question.” 

“So much the worse.” 

The smile vanished from his lips; his face grew dark, 
and he spoke quickly, like a man who has ceased to reckon 
with his words. 

“Perhaps I am stupid; but I know what is right and 
what is not. In this way hfe becomes impossible. Who- 
ever makes great things out of nothing must not blame 
others. But, since my presence is disagreeable, I go!” 

And, seizing his hat, he bowed, and went out. Marynia 
did not try to detain him. For a while offence and anger 
stifled in her all other sensations; then there remained to 
her only an impression, as if from the blow of a club. Her 
thoughts scattered like a flock of birds. Above them 
towered only one dim idea: “All is over! he will not 
return!” Thus fell the structure which had begun to unite 
in such beautiful lines. Emptiness, nothingness, a tortur- 
ing, because objectless life, and a chilled heart, — that is 
what remained to her. And happiness had been so near! 
But that which had taken place so suddenly was something 
so strange that she could not explain immediately. She 
went to the writing-desk, and began mechanically to arrange 
papers in it, with a certain objectless haste, as if there could 
be any reason at that moment for arranging them. Then 
she looked at Litka’s photograph, and sat down quickly 
with her hands on her eyes and temples. After a time it 


256 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


occurred to her that Litka’s will must be stronger than the 
will of them both, and a ray of hope shone in on her sud- 
denly. She began to walk in the room, and to think on 
what had passed; she recalled Pan Stanislav, not only as 
he had been just then, but earlier,— two, three days, a 
week before. Her regret became greater than her feeling 
of offence, and it increased with her affection for Pan Stan- 
islav. After atime she said in her soul that she was not 
free to forget herself; that it was her duty to accept and 
love Pan Stanislav as he was, and not strive to fix him to 
her ideas. “That is, he is a living man, not a puppet,” 
repeated she, a number of times. And a growing feeling of 
fault seized her, and after that compunction. A heart sub- 
missive by nature, and greatly capable of loving, struggled 
against sound sense, which she possessed undoubtedly, and 
which now told her in vain that reason was not on Pan 
Stanislav’s side, and that, moreover, she had said nothing 
which needed pardon. She said to herself, “If he has a 
good heart, even to a small extent, he will return ;” but she © 
was seized also with fear in view of the self-love of men in 
general, and of Pan Stanislav in particular, — she was too 
intelligent not to note that he cared greatly to pass for an 
unbending person. But considerations of that kind, which 
an unfriendly heart would have turned to his disadvantage, 
had made her tender only on his behalf. 

Half an hour later she was convinced to the depth of her 
soul that the fault lay only on her side; that “ she had tor- 
mented him so much already ” that she ought to yield now, 
— that is, to be the first to extend a hand in conciliation. 
That meant in her mind to write a few peace-making words. 
He had suffered so much from that affair of Kremen that 
this was due to him. And she was ready even to weep 
over his fate. She hoped, withal, that he, the bad, ugly 
man, would estimate what it cost her to write to him, and 
would come that same evening. 

It had seemed to her that nothing was easier than to write 
a few cordial phrases, which go directly from one heart to 
another. But how difficult! A letter has no eyes, which 
fill with tears; no face, which smiles both sadly and 
sweetly; no voice, which trembles; no hands to stretch 
forth. You may read and understand a letter as you like; 
it is merely black letters on paper as impassive as death. 

Marynia had just torn the third sheet, when the face of 
Pan Plavitski, as wrinkled as a roast apple, and with 





a 


—“__. =" 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 257 


mustaches freshly dyed, showed itself at the door partly 
open. 
aft Is Polanyetski not here ?” inquired he. 

“ He is not, papa.” 

* But will he come this evening ? ” 

“TJ do not know,” answered she, with a sigh. 

“Tf he comes, my child, tell him that I will return not 
later than an hour from now; and that I wish to speak 
with him.” 

“ And I too wish to speak with him,” thought Marynia. 

And when she had torn the third sheet she took the 
fourth and was thinking whether to turn the whole quarrel 
into a jest, or simply to beg his pardon. The jest might 
not please him; in the pardon there was something 
warmer, but how difficult it was! If he had not fled, it 
would have sufficed to extend her hand; but he flew out as 
if shot from a sling, the irritable man, though so much 
loved. 

And, raising her eyes, she began to work intently with her 
dark head, when on a sudden the bell sounded in the entrance. 
Marynia’s heart was beating hke a hammer; and through 
her head flew these questions, like lightning, — 

“TIsithe? Is it not he?” 

The door opened; it was he. 

He came in with the look of a wolf, his head down, his 
face gloomy. Evidently he was very uncertain how she 
would receive him; but she sprang up, her heart beating 
like a bird’s heart; her eyes radiant, happy, touched 
greatly by his return; and, running to him, she laid her 
hands on his shoulders. 

“But how good! how nice! And do you know, I wanted 
to write to you.” 

Pan Stanislav, pressing her hands to his lips, was silent 
for some time; at last he said, — 

“You ought to give the order to throw me downstairs.” 
In a rapture of thankfulness he drew her up to him, kissed 
her lips, eyes, temples, and hair, which became unbound 
in the pressure. In such moments it seemed to him always 
that he would find everything that goes to make great and 
perfect love. At last he released her and continued, — 

“You are too good. Though that is better, it subdues 
me. I came to beg your forgiveness, nothing more. I re- 
gained my senses at once. I reproached myself for my last 
words, and I cannot tell you how sorry I was. I walked 

17 


258 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


along the street, thinking to see you in the window, perhaps, 
and note from your face whether I might come in. After 
that I could not restrain myself, and returned.” 

“T beg pardon; it was my fault. You see the torn 
paper; I wrote and wrote.” 

He devoured with his eyes her hair, which she had arranged 
hastily. With blushing face, from which joy was beaming, 
with eyes laughing from happiness, she seemed to him more 
beautiful than ever, and desired as never before. 

Marynia noticed, too, that he was looking at her hair; 
and confusion struggled with pure womanly coquetry. She 
had fastened it awkwardly by design, so that the tresses 
were falling more and more on her shoulders; while she 
said, — 

“Do not look, or Ill go to my room.” 

“But that is my wealth,” said Pan Stanislav; “and in 
my life I have never seen anything like it.” 

He stretched his hands to her again, but she evaded. 

“Not permitted, not permitted,” said she; “as it is, lam 
ashamed. I ought to have left you.” 

Her hair, however, came gradually to order; then both 
sat down and conversed quietly, though looking into each 
other’s eyes. 

“ And you wished really to write ?” asked Pan Stanislav. 

“ You see the torn paper.” 

“T say that, in truth, you are too good.” 

She raised her eyes, and, looking at the shelf above the 
bureau, said, — 

“ Because the fault was mine. Yes; only mine.” 

And, judging that she could not be too magnanimous, she 
added after a moment, blushing to her ears and dropping 
her eyes, — 

“ For, after all, the professor is correct in what he writes 
about learning.” 

Pan Stanislav wanted to kneel down and kiss her feet 
Her charm and goodness not only disarmed him, but 
conquered him thoroughly. 

“That I am annihilated is true,” cried he, as if finishing 
some unexpressed thought with words. “ You conquer me 
utterly.” 

She began to shake her head joyously. “Ei! I don’t 
know ; I am such a coward.” 

“You a coward? I will tell you an anecdote: In 
3elgium I knew two young ladies named Wauters, who had 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 259 


a pet cat, a mild creature, mild enough, it would seem, to be 
put to a wound. Afterward one of the young ladies re- 
ceived a tame hare asa gift. What do you think? The 
eat was so afraid that from terror he jumped on to every 
shelf and stove. One day the ladies went to walk; all at 
once they remembered that the cat was alone with the hare. 
‘But will not Matou hurt the hare?’ ‘Matou? Matou is 
so terrified that he is ready to go out of his skin!’ And 
they walked on quietly. They came home an hour later, 
And guess what had happened? They found only the ears 
of the hare. ‘That is precisely the relation of young ladies 
tous. They are afraid seemingly; but afterward nothing 
is left of us but ears.” 

And Pan Stanislav began to laugh, and Marynia with 
him ; after a while he added, — 

“JT know that of me only ears will be left.” 

He did not tell the truth, however; for he felt that it 
would be otherwise. Marynia too, after thinking a while, 
said, — 

“No; I have not such a character.” 

“That is better too; for I will tell you sincerely what 
conclusions I have drawn from my life observations: the 
greater egotism always conquers the less.” 

“Or the greater love yields to the less,” answered 
Marynia. 

“That comes out the same. As to me,I confess that I 
should like to hold some Herod, see, this way, in my hand” 
(here Pan Stanislav opened his fingers and then closed 
them into a fist) ; ‘‘ but with such a dove as you, it is quite 
different. With you I think we shall have to fight to 
restrain you from too much self-abnegation, too much per- 
sonal sacrifice. Such is your nature, and I know whom I 
take. For that matter all say so, and even Mashko, who is 
no Solomon, said: ‘She may be unhappy with thee; thou 
with her, never.’ And he is right. But I am curious to 
know how Mashko will be for his wife. He has a firm 
hand,” 

“But is he loved much?” 

“Not so much as awhile ago, when a certain young lady 
coquetted with him.” 

“Yes; for he wasn’t so wicked as a certain ‘ Pan Stas.’” 

“That will be a wonderful marriage. She is not ill- 
looking, though she is pale, and has red eyes. But Mashko 
marries for property. He admits that she doesn’t love 


260 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


him; and when that adventure with Gantovski took place 
(he is brave, too), he was certain that those ladies would 
choose the opportunity to break with him. Meanwhile it 
turned out just the opposite; and imagine, Mashko is 
now alarmed again, because everything moves as if on oil. 
It seems to him suspicious. There are certain strange 
things there; there exists also, as it seems, a Pan Kras- 
lavski— God knows what there is not. The whole affair is 
stupid. There will be no happiness in it, — at least, not 
such as I picture to myself.” 

“And what do you picture to yourself? ” 

“Happiness in this, —to marry a reliable woman, like 
you, and see the future clearly.” 

“But I think it is in this, —to be loved; but that is not 
enough yet.” 

“What more?” 

“*To be worthy of that love, and to —” 

Here Marynia was unable for a time to find words, but 
at last she said, — 

‘*And to believe in a husband, and work with him.” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 261 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


Pan STANISLAV was not mistaken. Everything went so 
favorably for Mashko, Pani and Panna Kraslavski acted 
so admirably, that he was more and more alarmed. At 
moments he laughed at this; and since he had had no secret 
from Pan Stanislav for some time, he said one day, with 
complete cynicism, — 

“My dear, those are simply angels; but my hair stands 
on end, for something is hidden in this.” 

**Better thank the Lord God.” 

“They are too ideal; they are faultless; they are even 
without vanity. Yesterday, for example, I gave them to 
understand that I am an advocate only because to my 
thinking sons of the best families should undertake some- 
thing in these times, be something. Guess what they 
answered? That that is as good a position as any other; 
that every employwent is worthy in their eyes, provided 
it is work; and that only poor and empty natures could 
be ashamed of work. They shot out so many packages of 
commonplace that I wanted to answer with a sentence 
from copy-books, such as ‘ Honor is a steep cliff,’ or some- 
thing of that sort. Polanyetski, I tell thee there is 
something concealed there. I thought that it was papa, 
but it is not papa. I have news of him: he lives in 
Bordeaux; he calls himself De Langlais; and he has his 
own domestic hearth, not so much legally, as numerously, 
surrounded, which he maintains with a pension received 
from Pani Kraslavski.” 

“What harm is that to thee?” 

“None whatever.” 

“Tf it is that way, they are unhappy women, — that is 
all.” 

“True; but if their income answers to the misfortune? 
Remember that I have burdens. Besides, seest thou, if 
they are such women as they pretend, and if, also, they 
are rich, I am ready to fall in love really, and that would 
be stupid; if it appears that they have nothing, or little, 
I am ready, also, to fall in love, and that would be still 
more stupid. She has charms for me.” 


262 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“No; that would be the one wise thing in every case 
But think of thyself, Mashko, a little of me and the 
Plavitskis. It is known to thee that I have not the habit 
of being mild in those matters, and the dates of payment 
are approaching.” 

“T? ]l fire up the boiler once more with credit. For that 
matter, thou and they have a mortgage on Kremen. Ina 
couple of days there will be a betrothal party at Pani 
Kraslavski’s, after which I hope to learn something 
reliable.” 

Here Mashko began a monologue, — 

“But that a positive man, such as I am, should go into 
a forest in this way, passes belief. On the other hand, 
there is not a man, even among those who know best how 
every one stands, who would let himself doubt of Pani 
Kraslavski’s property. And they are so noble!” 

“Thy fears are probably baseless,” interrupted Pan 
Stanislav, with certain impatience. “But thou, my dear 
fellow, art not positive in any sense, for thou hast been 
always pretending, and art pretending still, instead of 
looking to that which gives thee bread.” 

A few days later the betrothal party took place in fact. 
Marynia was there; for Pani Kraslavski, who liked Pla- 
vitski, whose relatives were known to her, did not avoid 
association with him as she did with the Bigiels. Mashko 
brought such of his acquaintances as had well-known 
names. They had monocles on their eyes, and their hair 
parted in the middle; for the greater part very young, 
and mainly not very quick-witted. Among them were the 
five brothers Vy], who were called Mizio, Kizio, Bizio, 
Brelochek, and Tatus. They were nicknamed the five 
sleeping brothers, since they felt the impulses of life in 
their legs exclusively, and were active only in the carnival, 
but became perfectly torpid, at least in a mental sense, 
during Lent. Bukatski loved them, and amused himself 
with them. Baron Kot was there, who, because he had 
heard something from some one of a certain ancient Kot 
of Dembna, added always, when he was presented, “of 
Dembna,” and who always answered everything that was 
said to him with: “ Quelle dréle d'histoire!” Mashko was 
on the footing of thou with all these, though he treated 
them with a certain species of disregard, as well as 
Kopovski, —a young man with a splendid ideal head, and 
also splendid eyes without thought. Pan Stanislav and 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 263 


Kresovski represented the category of Mashko’s more clever 
friends. Pani Kraslavski had invited a number of ladies 
with daughters, among whom the five brothers circled care- 
lessly and coolly, and whose maiden hearts fluttered at the 
approach of Kopovski, caring less for his mental resem- 
blance to Hamlet, resting on this, —that if not he, his 
brain might be put into “a nutshell.” A number of digni- 
fied bald heads completed the company. 

Panna Kraslavski was dressed in white; in spite of her 
red eyes, she looked alluring. There was in her, indeed, 
a certain womanly charm, resting on a wonderful, almost 
dreamy repose. She recalled somewhat the figures of 
Perugini. At times she grew bright, like an alabaster 
amp, in which a flame flashes up on a sudden; after a 
while she paled again, but paled not without charm. 
Dressed in a thin white robe, she seemed more shapely 
than usual. Pan Stanislav, looking at her, thought that 
she might have a heart which was dry enough, and a dry 
enough head, but she could be a genteel wife, especially 
for Mashko, who valued social gentility above everything 
else. Their manner toward each other seemed like a cool 
and pale day, in which the sun does not burn, but in which 
also a storm is not threatening. They were sitting at the 
end of the drawing-room, not too near, but also not too far, 
from the rest of the company; they occupied themselves 
with each other no more and no less than was proper. In 
his conversation with her as much feeling was evident as 
was required, but, above all, the wish to appear a ‘‘correct ” 
betrothed; she paid him on her part in the same coin. 
They smiled at each other in a friendly way. He, as the 
future leader and head of the house, spoke more than she; 
sometimes they looked into each other’s eyes, —in a word, 
they formed the most correct and exemplary couple of 
betrothed people that could be imagined, in the society 
sense of the term. “I should not have held out,” said Pan 
Stanislav to himself. Suddenly he remembered that while 
she was sitting there in conventional repose, white, smil- 
ing, the poor little doctor, who could not “tear his soul 
from her,” was in equal repose somewhere between the 
tropics turning to dust, under the ground, forgotten, as if 
he had never existed; and anger bore himaway. Not only 
did he feel contempt for the heart of Mashko’s betrothed, 
but that repose of hers seemed now bad taste to him, —a 
species of spiritual deadness, which once had been fashion- 


264 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


able, and which, since they saw in it something demonic, 
the poets had struck with their thunderbolts, and which, 
in time, had grown vulgar, and dropped to be moral 
nonentity and folly. “First of all, she is a goose, and, 
moreover, a goose with no heart,” thought Pan Stanislav. 
At that moment Mashko’s alarm at the noble conduct of 
those ladies grew clear to him to such a degree that Mashko 
rose in his esteem as a man of acuteness. 

Then he fell to comparing bis own betrothed with Panna 
Kraslavski, and said to himself with great satisfaction, 
“ Marynia is a different species altogether.” He felt that 
he was resting mentally while looking at her. Inso much 
as the other seemed, as it were, an artificial plant, reared, 
not in broad fresh currents of air, but under glass, in that 
much did there issue from this one life and warmth, and 
still the comparison came out to the advantage of Marynia, 
even in respect to society. Pan Stanislav did not overlook 
altogether ‘‘distinction,” so-called, understanding that, if 
not always, it frequently answers to a certain mental 
finish, especially in women. Looking now at one, now at 
the other, he came to the conviction that that finish 
which Panna Kraslavski had was something acquired and 
enslaving, with Marynia it was innate. In the one it was 
a garment thrown on outside; in the other, the soul, —a 
kind of natural trait in a species ennobled through long 
ages of culture. Taking from Bukatski’s views as many 
as he needed, — that is, as many as were to the point, — 
Pan Stanislav remembered that he had said frequently that 
women, without reference to their origin, are divided into 
patricians, who have culture, principles, and spiritual 
needs, which have entered the blood, and parvenues, who 
dress in them, as in mantillas, to go visiting. At present, 
while looking at the noble profile of Marynia, Pan Stan- 
islav thought, with the vanity of a little townsman who is 
marrying a princess, that he was taking a patrician in 
the high sense of the word; and, besides, a very beautiful 
patrician. 

Frequently women need only some field, and a little 
luck, to bloom forth. Marynia, who seemed almost ugly 
to Pan Stanislav when he: was returning from the burial 
of Litka, astonished him now, at times, “with her beauty. 
Near her Panna Kraslavski seemed like a faded robe near 
a new one; and if the fortune of Panna Plavitski had been 
on a level with her looks, she would have passed, beyond 





alee 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 265 


doubt, for a beauty. As it was, the five brothers, putting 
their glasses on their equine noses, looked at her with a 
certain admiration; and Baron Kot, of Dembna, declared 
confidentially that her betrothal was real luck, for had it 
not taken place, who knows but he might have rushed in. 

Pan Stanislav could note also that evening one trait of 
his own character which he had not suspected, — jealousy. 
Since he was convinced that Marynia was a_ perfectly 
reliable woman, who might be trusted blindly, that jealousy 
was simply illogical. In his time he had been jealous of 
Mashko, and that could be understood; but now he could 
not explain why Kopovski, for example, with his head of 
an archangel and his brains of a bird, could annoy him, 
just because he sat next to Marynia, and doubtless was 
asking her more or less pertinent questions, to which she 
was answering more or less agreeably. At first he re- 
proached himself. “Still, it would be difficult to ask her 
not to speak to him!” Afterward he found that Marynia 
turned to Kopovski too frequently, and answered too agree- 
ably. At supper, while sitting next her, he was silent and 
irritated; and when she asked the reason, he answered 
most inappropriately, — 

“JT have no wish to spoil the impression which Pan 
Kopovski produced on you.” 

But she was pleased that he was jealous; contracting the 
corners of her mouth to suppress laughter, and looking at 
him sedately, she answered, — 

“Do you find, too, that there is something uncommon in 
Pan Kopoyski?” 

“Of course, of course! When he walks the streets 
even, it seems that he is carrying his head into fresh air, 
lest the moths might devour it.” 

The corners of Marynia’s mouth bore the test, but her 
eyes laughed evidently; at last, unable to endure, she said, 
in a low voice, — 

“Outrageously jealous!” 

“1? Not the least!” 

“Well, I will give you an extract from our conversation. 
You know that yesterday there was a case of catalepsy 
during the concert; to-day they were talking of that near 
us; then, among other things, I asked Pan Kopovski if he 
had seen the cataleptic person. Do you know what he 
answered? ‘Each of us may have different convictions.’ 
Well, now, isn’t he uncommon?” 


266 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Pan Stanislav was pacified, and began to laugh. 

“But I tell you that he simply does n’t understand what 
is said to him, and answers anything.” 

They passed the rest of the evening with each other 
in good agreement. At the time of parting, when the 
Plavitskis, having a carriage with seats for only two 
persons, were unable to take Pan Stanislav, Marynia 
turned to him and inquired, — 

“Will the cross, whimsical man come to-morrow to 
dine with us?” 

“ He will, for he loves,” answered Pan Stanislav, cover- 
ing her feet with the robe. 

She whispered into his ear, as it were great news, “ And 
I too.” 

And although he at the moment of speaking was per- 
fectly sincere, she spoke more truth. Mashko conducted 
Pan Stanislav home. On the road they talked of the 
reception. . Mashko said that before the arrival of guests 
he had tried to speak to Pani Kraslavski of business, but 
had not succeeded. 

“There was a moment,” said he, “ when I thought to 
put the question plainly, dressing it of course in the most 
delicate form. But I was afraid. Finally, why have I 
doubts of the dower of my betrothed? Only "because those 
ladies treat me with more consideration than I expected. 
As a humor, that is very good; but I fear-to push matters 
too far, for suppose that my fears turn out vain, suppose 
they have money really, and are incensed because my curi- 
osity is too selfish. It is necessary to count with this also, 
for I may be wrecked at the harbor.” 

“Well, then,” answered Pan Stanislav, “admit this, and 
for that matter it is likely that they have; but if it 
should turn out that they have not, what then? Hast a 
plan ready? Wilt thou break with Panna Kraslavski, or 
wilt thou marry her?” 

“T will not break with her in any case, for I should not 
gain by it. If my marriage does not take place, I shall be 
a bankrupt. Butif it does, I will state my financial posi- 
tion precisely, and suppose that Panna Kraslavski will 
break with me.” 

“ But if she does not, and has no money ? ” 

“ T shall love her, and come to terms with my creditors. 
I shall cease to ‘pretend,’ as thy phrase is, and try to win 
bread for us both; I am not a bad advocate, as thou 
knowest.” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 267 


“ That is fairly good,” answered Pan Stanislav, “ but that 
does not pacify me touching the Plavitskis and myself.” 

“Thou and they are in a better position than others, 
for ye have a lien on Kremen. Ina given case thou wilt 
take everything in thy firm grasp, and squeeze out some- 
thing. It is worse for those who have trusted my word; 
and I tell thee to thy eyes that I am concerned more for 
them. I had, and I have great credit even now. That is 
my tender point. But if they give me time, I will come 
out somehow. If I had a little happiness at home, and 
a motive there for labor —” 

They came now to Pan Stanislav’s house, so Mashko did 
not finish histhought. At the moment of parting, however, 
he said suddenly, — 

“Listen to me. In thy eyes I am somewhat crooked; 
I am much less so than seems to thee. I have pretended, as 
thou sayst, itis true! I had to wriggle out, like an eel, and 
in those wrigglings I slipped sometimes from the beaten 
road. But I am tired, and tell thee plainly that I wish 
a little happiness, for I have not had it. Therefore I 
wanted to marry thy betrothed, though she is without 
‘property. As to Panna Kraslavski, dost thou know that 
there are moments when I should prefer that she had 
nothing, but, to make up, that she would not drop me when 
she knows that I too have nothing. I say this sincerely 
—and now good-night.” 

“ Well,” said Pan Stanislav to himself, “this is something 
new in Mashko.” And he entered the gate. Standing at 
the door, he was astonished to hear the piano in his apart- 
ments. The servant said that Bigiel had been waiting two 
hours for him. 

Pan Stanislav was alarmed, but thought that if some- 
thing unfavorable had caused his presence, he would not 
play on the piano. In fact, it turned out that Bigiel was in 
haste merely to get Pan Stanislav’s signature for an affair 
which had to be finished early next morning. 

“ Thou mightest have left the paper, and gone to bed,” 
said Pan Stanislav. 

“TI slept awhile on thy sofa, then sat at the piano. 
Once I played on the piano as well as on the violin, but 
now my fingers are clumsy. Thy Marynia plays probably; 
such music in the house is a nice thing.” 

Pan Stanislav laughed with a sincere, well-wishing 


laugh. 





a 
4 
: 
' 
; 






268 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“My Marynia? My Marynia possesses the evangelical 
talent: her left hand does not know what her right hand 
is doing. Poor dear woman! She has no pretensions; and 
she plays only when I beg her to do so.” 

“Thou art as it were laughing at her,” said Bigiel ; “but 
only those who are in love laugh in that way.” 

“Because I am in love most completely. At least it 
seems so now to me; and in general I must say that it 
seems so to me oftener and oftener. Wilt thou have 
tea?” 

“Yes. Thou hast come from Pani Kraslavski’s ?” 

“T have.” 

“ How is Mashko ? Will he struggle to shore ? ” 

‘*T parted with him a moment ago. He came with me 
to the gate. He says things at times that I should not ex- 
pect from him.” 

Pan Stanislav, glad to have some one to talk with, and 
feeling the need of intimate converse, began to tell what he 
had heard from Mashko; and how much he was astonished 
at finding a man of romantic nature under the skin of a 
person of his kind. 

“ Mashko is not a bad man,” said Bigiel. “ Heis only on 
the road to various evasions; and the cause of that is his 
vanity and respect for appearances. But, on the other 
hand, that respect for appearances saves him from final 
fall. As to the man of romance, which thou hast found in 
him — ” 

Here Bigiel cut off the end of a cigar, lighted it with 
great deliberation, wrinkling his brows at the same time, 
and, sitting down comfortably, continued, — 

“Bukatski would have given on that subject ten ironical 
paradoxes about our society. Now something stuck in my 
head that he told me, when he attacked us because always 
we love some one or something. It seems to him that this 
is foolish and purposeless ; but I see in this a great trait. It 
is necessary to become something in the world; and what 
have we? Money we have not; intellect, so-so; the gift of 
inaking our way in a position, not greatly; management, 
little. We have in truth this yet, —that almost involunta- 
rily, through some general disposition, we love something or 
somebody ; and if we do not love, we feel the need of love. 
Thou knowest that I am a man of deliberation and a 
merchant, hence I speak soberly. I call attention to this 
because of Bukatski. Mashko, for instance, in some other 





i ae 


= caliel 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 269 


country, would be a rogue from under a dark star; and I 
know many such. But here even beneath the trickster thou 
canst scratch to the man; and that is simple, for, in the last 
instance, while a man has some spark in his breast yet, he 
is not a beast utterly; and with us he has the spark, 
precisely for this reason, that he loves something.” 

“Thou bringest Vaskovski tomy mind. What thou art 
saying is not far from his views concerning the mission 
of the youngest of the Aryans.” 

“ What is Vaskovski to me? I say what I think. I 
know one thing: take that from us, and we should fly apart, 
like a barrel without hoops.” 

“ Well, listen to what I will tell thee. This is a thing 
decided in my mind rather long since. To love, or not to 
love some one, is a personal question; but I understand 
that it is needful to love something in life. I too have 
meditated over this. After the death of that child, I felt 
that the devil had taken certain sides of me; sometimes I 
feel that yet. Not to-day; but there are times — how can 
T tell thee ? — times of ebb, exhaustion, doubts. And if, in 
spite of this, I marry, it is because I understand that it 1s 
necessary to have a living and strong foundation under a 
more general love.” 

“ For that, and not for that,” answered Bigiel the inexor- 
able in judgment, “for thou are marrying not at all from 
purely mental reasons. Thou art taking a comely and 
honest young woman, to whom thou art attracted; and do 
not persuade thyself that it is otherwise, or thou wilt begin 
to pretend. My dear friend, every man has these doubts 
before marrying. I, as thou seest, am no philosopher; but 
ten times a day I asked myself before marriage, if I loved 
my future wife well enough, if I loved her as was neces- 
sary, had I not too little soul in the matter, and too many 
doubts? God knows what! Afterward I married a good 
woman, and it was well for us. It will be well for you too, 
if ye take things simply ; but that endless searching in the 
mind and looking for certain secrets of the heart is folly, 
God knows.” 

“ Maybe it is folly. I too have no great love for lying 
on my back and analyzing from morn in till night; but 
I cannot help seeing facts.” 

“What facts?” 

“Such facts, for example, as this, that my feeling is not 
what it was at first. I think that it will be; I acknowledge 


270 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


that it is going to that. I marry in spite of these obser- 
vations, as if they did not exist; but I make them.” : 

“Thou art free to do so.” 

“ And see what I think besides: still it is necessary that 
the windows of a house should look out on the sun; 
otherwise it will be cold in the dwelling.” 

“Thou hast said well,’’ answered Bigiel. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. oTt 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


MEANWHILE winter began to break ; the end of Lent was 
approaching, and with it the time of marriage for Pan 
Stanislav, as well as Mashko. Bukatski, invited as a 
groomsman to the former, wrote to him among other 
things as follows, — 


“To thrust forth the all-creative energy from its universal condition, 
—that is, from a condition of perfect repose, — and force it by means 
of marriages concluded on earth to incarnate itself in more or less 
squalling particulars which require cradles and which amuse them- 
selves by holding the great toe in the mouth, is a crime. Still I will 
come, because stoves are better with you than in this place.” 


In fact, he came a week before the holidays, and brought 
as a gift to Pan Stanislav a sheet of parchment ornamented 
splendidly with something in the style of a grave hour-glass, 
on which was the inscription, “Stanislav Polanyetski, after 
a long and grievous bachelorhood.” 

Pan Stanislav, whom the parchment pleased, took it next 
day about noon to Marynia. He forgot, however, that it 
was Sunday, and felt, as it were, disappointed, at finding 
Marynia with her hat on, 

“ Are you going out ? ” inquired he. 

“Yes. Tochurch. To-day is Sunday.” 

“Ah, Sunday! True. But I thought that we should sit 
here together. It would be so agreeable.” 

She raised her calm blue eyes to him, and said with 
simplicity, “But the service of God?” 

Pan Stanislav received these words at once as he would 
have received any other, not foreseeing that, in the spiritual 
process which he was to pass through later on, they would 
play a certain rédle by reason of their directness, and said as 
if repeating mechanically, — 

“You say the service of God. Very well! I have time; 
let us go together.” 

Marynia received this offer with great satisfaction. 

“Tam the happier,” said she, on the way, “the more I 
love God.” 

‘That, too, is the mark of a good nature; some persons 
think of God only as a terror.” 


272 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


And in the church that came again to his mind of which - 
he had thought during his first visit to Kremen, when 
he was at the church in Vantory, with old Plavitski: 
“Destruction takes all philosophies and systems, one after 
another; but Mass is celebrated as of old.” It seemed to 
him that in that there was something which passed com- 
prehension. He who, because of Litka, had come in con- 
tact with death in a manner most painful, returned to 
those dark problems whenever he happened to be in a’ 
cemetery, or a church at Mass, or in any circumstances 
whatever in which something took place which had no 
connection with the current business of life, but was 
shrouded in that future beyond the grave. He was struck 
by this thought, — how much is done in this life for that 
future; and how, in spite of all philosophizing and doubt, 
people live as if that future were entirely beyond question; 
how much of petty personal egotisms are sacrificed for it; 
how many philanthropic deeds are performed; how asylums, 
hospitals, retreats, churches are built, and all on an account 
payable beyond the grave only. 

He was struck still more by another thought, — that to 
be reconciled with life really, it is necessary to be reconciled 
with death first; and that without faith in something be- 
yond the grave this reconciliation is simply impossible. 
But if you have faith the question drops away, as if it had. 
never existed. “Let the devils take mourning; let us 
rejoice; ” for if this is true, what more can be desired? Is 
there before one merely the view of some new existence, 
in the poorest case, wonderfully curious, —even that cer- 
tainty amounts to peace and quiet. Pan Stanislav had an 
example of that, then, in Marynia. Because she was some- 
what short-sighted, she held her head bent over the book; 
but when at moments she raised it, he saw a face so calm, 
so full of something lke that repose which a flower has, 
and so serene, that it was simply angelic. “That is a 
happy woman, and she will be happy always,” said he to 
himself. “And, besides, she has sense, for if, on the oppo- 
site side, there were at least certainty, there would be also 
that satisfaction which truth gives; but to torture one’s 
self for the sake of various marks of interrogation is pure 
folly.” 

On the way home, Pan Stanislav, thinking continually of 
this expression of Marynia’s, said, — 

“In the church you looked like some profile of Fra An- 
gelico; you had a face which was indeed happy.” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 273 


“For I am happy at present. And do you know why? 
Because I am better than I was. I felt at one time offended 
in heart, and I was dissatisfied; I had no hope before me, 
and all these put together formed such suffering that it was 
terrible. It is said that misfortune ennobles chosen souls, 
but Iam not a chosen soul. For that matter, misfortune 
may ennoble, but suffering, offence, ill-will, destroy. They 
ure like poison.” 

“Did you hate me much then?” 

Marynia looked at him and answered, “I hated you so 
much that for whole days I thought of you only.” 

“Mashko has wit; he described this once thus to me: 
‘She would rather hate you than love me.’ ” 

**Oi! that I would rather, is true.” 

Thus conversing, they reached the house. Pan Stanislav 
had time then to unroll his parchment hour-glass and 
show it to Marynia; but the idea did not please her. She 
looked on marriage ‘not only from the point of view of the 
heart, but of religion. “With such things there is no 
jesting,” said she; and after a while she confessed to Pan 
Stanislav that she was offended with Bukatsk1. 

After dinner Bukatski came. During those few months 
of his stay in Italy he had become still thinner, which 
was a proof against the efticacy of “chianti” for catarrh 
of the stomach. His nose, with its thinness, reminded 
one of a knife-edge; his humorous face, smiling with 
irony, had become, as it were, porcelain, and was no larger 
than the tist of a grown man. He was related both to Pan 
Stanislav and Marynia; hence he said what he pleased in 
their presence. From the threshold almost, he declared 
to them that, in view of the increasing number of mental 
deviations in the world at present, he could only regret, 
but did not wonder, that they were affianced. He had 
come, it is true, in the hope that he would be able to save 
them, but he saw now that he was late, and that nothing 
was left but resignation. Marynia was indignant on hear- 
ing this; but Pan Stanislav, who loved him, said, — 

“Preserve thy conceit for the wedding speech, for thou 
must make one; and now tell us how our professor is.’ 

“He has grown disturbed in mind seriously,” replied 
Bukatski. 

“To not jest in that way,” said Marynia. 

“And so much without cause,” added Pan Stanislav. 

But Bukatski continued, with equal seriousness: “ Pro- 

1s 


274 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


fessor Vaskovski is disturbed in mind, and here are my 
proofs tor you: First, he walks through Rome without a 
cap, or rather, he walked, for he is in Perugia at present; 
second, he attacked a refined young English lady, and 
proved to her that the English are Christians in private 
life only, —that the relations of England to Ireland are not 
Christian; third, he is printing a pamphlet, in which he 
shows that the mission of reviving and renewing history 
with the spirit of Christ is committed to the youngest of 
the Aryans. Confess that these are proofs.” 

‘We knew these ways before his departure; if nothing 
more threatens the professor, we hope to see him in good 
health.” 

“He does not think of returning.” 

Pan Stanislav took out his note-book, wrote some words 
with a pencil, and, giving them to Marynia, said, — 

“Read, and tell me if that is good.” 

“If thou write in my presence, I withdraw,” said 
Bukatski. 

“No, no! this is no secret.” 

Marynia became as red as a cherry from delight, and, as 
if not wishing to believe her eyes, asked, — 

“Ts that true? It is not.” 

‘*That depends on you,” answered Pan Stanislav. 

“Ah, Pan Stas! I did not even dream of that. I must 
tell papa. I must.” 

And she ran out of the room. 

“Tf I were a poet, I would hang myself,” said Bukatski. 

“Why?” 

“For if a couple of words, jotted down by the hand of a 
partner in the house of Bigiel and Company, can produce 
more impression than the most beautiful sonnet, it is better 
to be a miller boy than a poet.” 

But Marynia, in the rapture of her joy, forgot the note- 
book, so Pan Stanislav showed it to Bukatski, saying, 
“Read.” 

Bukatski read : — 


“After the wedding Venice, Florence, Rome, Naples. Is that 
well?” 


“Then it’s a journey to Italy?” 

“Yes. Imagine, she has not been abroad in her life; 
and Italy has always seemed to her an enchanted land, 
which she has not even dreamed of seeing. That is an 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 275 


immense delight for her; and what the deuce wonder is 
there, if I think out a little pleasure for her?” 

“Love and Italy! O God, how many times Thou hast 
looked on that! All that love is as old'as the world.” 

“Not true! Fall in love, and see if thou’lt find some- 
thing new in it.” : 

“My beloved friend, the question is not in this, that I 
do not love yet, but in this, —that I love no longer. Years 
ago I dug that sphinx out of the sand, and it is no longer 
a riddle to me.” 

“ Bukatski, get married.” 

“T cannot. My sight is too faint, and my stomach too 
weak.” 

“What hindrance in that?” 

“Oh, seest thou, a woman is like a sheet of paper. An 
angel writes on one side, a devil on the other; the paper 
is cut through, the words blend, and such a hash is made 
that I can neither read nor digest it.” 

“To live all thy life on cone ceits! ” 

“T shall die, as well as thou, who art marrying. It 
seems to us that we think of death, but it thinks more 
of us.” 

At that moment Marynia came in with her father, who 
embraced Pan Stanislav, and said, — 

“Marynia tells me that ’t is thy wish to go to Italy after 
the wedding.” 

not my future lady will consent.” 

“Thy future lady will not only consent,” answered 
Marynia, “but she has lost her head from delight, and 
wants to jump through the room, as if she were ten years 
of age.” 

To which Plavitski answered, “If the cross of a solitary 
old man can be of use in your distant journey, I will bless 
you.” 

And he raised his eyes and his hand toward heaven, to 
the unspeakable delight of Bukatski; but Marynia drew 
down the raised hand, ; and, kissing it, said with laughter, — 

“There will be time for that, papa ; we are going away 
only after the wedding.” 

“And, speaking plainly,” added Bukatski, “then there 
will be a buying of tickets, and giving baggage to be 
weighed, and starting, — nothing more. 

To this Plavitski turned to the eynic, and said, with a 
certain unction, — 


276 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“Have you come to this, —that you look on the blessing ~ 
of a lonely old man and a father as superfluous? ” 

Bukatski, instead of an answer, embraced Plavitski, 
kissed him near the waistcoat, and said, — 

‘*But would the ‘ lonely old man’ not play piquet, so 
as to let those two mad heads talk themselves out?” 

‘**But with a rubicon?” asked Plavitski. 

“With anything you like.” Then he turned to the young 
couple: “Hire me as a guide to Italy.” 

“Tf do not think of it,” answered Pan Stanislav. “I 
have been in Belgium and France, no farther. Italy I 
know not; but I want to see what will interest us, not what 
may interest thee. I have seen men such as thou art, and 
I know that through over-refinement they go so far that 
they love not art, but their own knowledge of it.” 

Here Pan Stanislav continued the talk with Marynia. 

“Yes, they go so far that they lose the feeling of great, — 
simple art, and seek something to occupy their sated taste, 
and exhibit their critical knowledge. They do not see 
trees; they search simply for knots. The greatest things 
which we are going to admire do not concern them, but 
some of the smallest things, of which no one has heard; 
they dig names out of obscurity, occupy themselves in one 
way or another, persuade themselves and others that things 
inferior and of less use surpass in interest the better and 
more perfect. Under his guidance we might not see whole 
churches, but we might see various things which would 
have to be looked at through cracks. I call all this surfeit, 
abuse, over-refinement, and we are simply people.” 

Marynia looked at him with pride, as if she would say, 
“Oh, that is what is called speaking!” Her pride increased — 
when Bukatski said, — 

“Thou art quite right.” 

But she was indignant when he added, — 

“ And if thou wert not right, I could not win before the 
tribunal.” 

“TI beg pardon,” said Marynia; “I am not blinded in 
any way.” 

“But I am not an art critic at all.” 

“On the contrary, you are.” 

“Tf IT am, then, I declare that knowledge embraces a 
greater number of details, but does not prevent a love of 
great art; and believe not Pan Stanislav, but me.” 

“No; I prefer to believe him.” 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 277 


“That was to be foreseen.” 

Marynia looked now at one, now at the other, with a 
somewhat anxious face. Meanwhile Plavitski came with 
eards. The betrothed walked through the rooms hand in 
hand; Bukatski began to be wearied, and grew more and 
more so. ‘Toward the end of the evening the humor 
which animated him died out; his small face became still 
smaller, his nose sharper, and he looked like a dried 
leaf. When he went out with Pan Stanislav, the latter 
inquired, — 

“Somehow thou wert not so vivacious? ” 

“Tam like a machine: while I have fuel within, I move; 
but in the evening, when the morning supply is exhausted, 
I stop.” 

?an Stanislav looked at him carefully. “What is thy 
fuel?” 

“There are various kinds of coal. Come to me: I will 
give thee a cup of good coffee; that will enliven us.” 

“Listen! this is a delicate question, but some one told 
me that thou hast been taking morphine this long time.” 

**For a very short time,” answered Bukatski; “if thou 
could only know what horizons it opens.” 

“And it kills— Fear God!” 

“And kills! ‘Tell me sincerely, has this ever occurred to 
thee, that it is possible to have a yearning for death?” 

“No; I understand just the opposite.” 

“But I will give thee neither morphine nor opium,” said 
Bukatski, at length; ‘‘only good coffee and a bottle of 
honest Bordeaux. That will be an innocent orgy.” 

After some time they arrived at Bukatski’s. It was the 
dwelling of a man of real wealth, seemingly, somewhat un- 
inhabited, but full of small things connected with art and 
pictures and drawings. Lamps were burning in a number 
of rooms, for Bukatski could not endure darkness, even in 
time of sleep. 

The “Bordeaux” was found promptly, and under the 
machine for coffee a blue flame was soon burning. Bukatski 
stretched himself on the sofa, and said, all at once, — 

“Perhaps thou wilt not admit, since thou seest me such 
a filigree, that I have no fear of death.” 

“This one thing I have at times admitted, that thou art 
jesting and jesting, deceiving thyself and others, while 
really the joke is not in thee, and this is all artificial.” 

“The folly of people amuses me somewhat.” 


278 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“But if thou think thyself wise, why arrange life so 
vainly?” Here Pan Stanislav looked around on bric-a- 
brac, on pictures, and added, **In all this surrounding thou 
art still ving vainly.” 

‘*Vainly enough.” 

“Thou art of those who pretend. What a disease in 
this society! Thou art posing, and that is the whole 
question.” 

“Sometimes. But, for that matter, it becomes natural.” 

Under the influence of “ Bordeaux” Bukatski grew ani- 
mated gradually, and became more talkative, though cheer- 
fulness did not return to him. 

“Seest thou,” said he, “one thing, —I do not pretend. 
All which I myself could tell, or which another could tell 
me, I have thought out, and said long since to my soul. I 
lead the most stupid and the vainest life possible. Around 
me is immense nothingness, which I fear, and which I 
fence out with this lumber which thou seest in this room; 
I do this so as to fear less. Not to fear death is another 
thing, for after death there are neither feelings nor 
thoughts. I shall become, then, a part also of nothing- 
ness; but to feel it, while one is alive, to know of it, to 
give ‘account to one’s self of it, as God lives, there can be 
nothing more abject. Moreover, the condition of my 
health is really bad, and takes from me every energy. I 
have no fuel in myself, therefore I add it. There is less 
in this of posing and pretending than thou wilt admit. 
When I have given myself fuel, I take life in its humorous 
aspect; I follow the example of the sick man, who lies on 
the side on which he lies with most comfort. For me 
there is most comfort thus. That the position is artificial, 
I admit; every other, however, would be more painful. 
And see, the subject is exhausted.” 

“Tf thou would undertake some work.” 

“Give me peace. To begin with, I know a multitude of 
things, but I don’t understand anything; second, I am 
sick; third, tell a paralytic to walk a good deal when he 
cannot use his legs. The subject is exhausted! Drink 
that wine there, and let us talk about thee. That is a good 
lady, Panna Plavitski; and thou art doing well to marry 
her. What I said to thee there in the day time does not 
count. She is a good lady, and loves thee.” 

Here Bukatski, enlivened and roused evidently by the 
wine, began to speak hurriedly. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 279 


“What I say in the daytime does not count. Now it is 
night; let us drink wine, and a moment of more sincerity 
comes. Dost wish more wine, or coffee? I like this odor; 
one should mix Mocha and Ceylon in equal parts. Now 
comes a time of more sincerity! Knowest thou what I 
think at bottom? I have no clear idea of what happiness 
fame may give, for I do not possess it; and since the 
Ephesian temple is tired, there is no opening to fame 
before me. 1 admit, however, so, to myself, that the 
amount of it might be eaten by a mouse, not merely on an 
empty stomach, but after a good meal ina pantry. But I 
know what property is, for I have a little of it; I know 
what travelling is, for I have wandered; I know what 
freedom is, for I am free; I know what women are —o0i, 
devil take it !—too well, and I know what books are. 
Besides, in this chamber, I have a few pictures, a few 
drawings, a little porcelain. Now listen to what I will 
say to thee: All this is nothing; all is vanity, folly, dust, 
in comparison with one heart which loves. This is the 
result of my observations; only I have come to it at the 
end, while normal men reach it at the beginning.” 

Here he began to stir the coffee feverishly with a spoon; 
and Pan Stanislav, who was very lively, sprang up and 
said, — 

“And thou, O beast! what didst thou say some months 
since, — that thou wert going to Italy because there no one 
loved thee, and thou didst love no one? Dost remember? 
Thon lt deny, perhaps.” 

“But what did I say this afternoon to thy betrothed? 
That thou and she had gone mad; and now I say that thou 
art doing well. Dost wish logic of me? To talk and to 
say something are two different things. But now I am 
more sincere, for I have drunk half a bottle of wine.” 

Pan Stanislav began to walk through the room and 
repeat: “But, as God lives, itis fabulous! See what the 
root of the matter is, and what they all say when cornered.” 

“To love is good, but there is something still better, — 
that is, to be loved. There is nothing above that! As to 
me, I would give for it all these; but it is not worth while 
to talk of me. Life is a comedy badly written, and with- 
out talent: even that which pains terribly is sometimes 
like a poor melodrama; but in life, if there be anything 
good, it is to be loved. Imagine to thyself, I have not 
known that, and thou hast found it without seeking.” 


280 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“Do not say so, for thou knowest not how it came ta 
me.” 

“T know; Vaskovskitold me. That, however, is all one. 
The question is this, —thou hast known how to value it.” 

“Well, what dost thou wish? I understand that I am 
loved a little; hence I marry, and that is the end of the 
matter.” 

Thereupon Bukatski put his hand on Pan Stanislav’s 
shoulder. 

“No, Polanyetski; I am a fool in respect to myself, 
but not a bad observer of what is passing aroundme. That 
is not the end, but the beginning. Most men say, as thou 
hast, ‘I marry, —that is the end;’ and most men deceive 
themselves.” 

“That philosophy I do not understand.” 

“But thou seest what the question is? It is not enough 
to take a woman; a man should give himself to her also, 
and should feel that he does so. Dost understand?” 

“Not greatly.” 

“Well, thou art feigning simplicity. She should not 
only feel herself owned, but an owner. A soul for a soul! 
otherwise a life may be lost. Marriages are good or bad. 
Mashko’s will be bad for twenty reasons, and among others 
for this, of which I wish to speak.” 

“He is of another opinion. But, as God lives, it is a 
pity that thou art not married, since thou hast such a 
sound understanding of how married life should be.” 

“If to understand and to act according to that under- 
standing were the same, there would not be the various, 
very various events, from which the bones ache in all of 
us. For that matter, imagine me marrying.” 

Here Bukatski began to laugh with his thin little voice. 
Joyfulness returned to him on a sudden, and with it the 
vision of things on the comic side. 

“Thou wilt be ridiculous; but what should Ibe? Some- 
thing to split one’s sides at. What a moment that is! 
Thou wilt see in two weeks. For instance, how thou wilt 
dress for church. Here, love, beating of the heart, solemn — 
thoughts, a new epoch in life; there, the gardener, with 
flowers, a dress-coat, lost studs, the tying of a cravat, the 
drawing on of patent-leather boots, —all at one time, one 
chaos, one contusion. Deliver me, angels of paradise! I 
have compassion on thee, my dear friend; and do thou, I 
beg, not take seriously what I say. There is a new moon 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 281 


now, and I have a mania for uttering commonplace senti- 
ment at the new moon. All folly!—the new moon, noth- 
ing more! I have grown as soft-hearted as a ewe who has 
lost her first lamb; and may the cough split me, if I 
have n’t uttered commonplace!” 

But Pan Stanislav attacked him: “I have seen many vain 
things ; but knowest thou what seems to me vainest in thee 
and those like thee? Thou and they, who absolve your- 
selves from everything, recognize nothing above you, and 
fear like fire every honest truth, for the one reason that 
some one might sometime declare it. How bad this is 
words cannot tell. As to thee, my dear friend, thou wert 
sincerer a while since than now. Again, thou’rt a poodle, 
dancing on two legs; but I tell thee that ten like thee could 
not show me that I have not won a great prize in the 
lottery.” 

He took farewell of Bukatski with a certain anger; on 
the road home, however, he grew pacified and repeated con- 
tinually : ‘‘See where the truth is; see what Mashko, and 
even Bukatski, says, when ready to be sincere; but I 
have won simply a great prize, and I will not waste what 
I have won.” 

When he entered his lodgings and saw Litka’s photo- 
graph, he exclaimed, “My dearest kitten!” Up to the 
moment of sleeping he thought of Marynia with pleasure, 
and with the calmness of a man who feels that some great 
problem of life has been settled decisively, and settled 
well. For, in spite of Bukatski’s words, he was convinced 
that, since he was going to marry, all would be decided and 
ended by that one act. 


282 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


Tue “catastrophe,” as Bukatski called it, came at last. 
Pan Stanislav learned by experience that if in life there 
are mmany days in which a man cannot seize his own 
thoughts, to such belong above all the day of his marriage. 
At times a number of these thoughts circled in his brain at 
one moment, and were so indefinite, that, speaking accu- 
rately, they were rather unconscious impressions than 
thoughts. He felt that a new epoch in life was beginning, 
that he was assuming great obligations which he ought to 
fulfil conscientiously and seriously; and at the same time, 
but exactly at the same time, he wondered that the ear- 
riage was n’t coming yet, and expressed his astonishment in 
the form of a threat: “If those scoundrels are late, Ill 
break their necks for them.” At moments a solemn, and, 
as it were, noble fear of that future for which he had 
assumed responsibility was mastering him ; he felt with- 
in him a certain elevation, and in this feeling of elevation 
he began to lather his beard, and he thought whether on 
such an exceptional day it would not be exceptionally 
worth while to bring in a barber to his somewhat dis- 
hevelled hair. Marynia at the same time was at the basis 
of all his impressions. He saw her, as if present. He 
thought: “At this moment, she too is dressing, she is 
standing in her chamber in front of the mirror, she is talk- 
ing to her maid, her soul is flying toward me, and her 
heart beats unquietly.” That instant tenderness seized him 
and he said to himself, “ But have no fear, honest soul, for, 
as God lives, I will not wrong thee ;” and he saw himself in 
the future, kind, considerate, so that he began to look with 
a certain emotion at the patent-leather boots standing near 
the armchair, on which his wedding-suit was lying. He 
repeated from time to time too, “If to marry, then 
marry!” He said to himself that he was stupid to hesi- 
tate, for another such Marynia there was not on earth; he 
felt that he loved her, and thought at the same time that 
the weather was not bad, but that perhaps rain might fall; 
that it might be cold in the Church of the Visitation ; that in 
an hour he would be kneeling by Marynia, that a white neck- 





CHILDREN OF THE SOLL. 283 


tie is safer knotted than pinned; that marriage is indeed 
the most important ceremony in life; that there is in it 
something sacred, and that one must not lose one’s head 
anyhow, for in an hour it will be over; to-morrow they 
will depart, and then the normal quiet hfe of husband and 
wife will begin. 

These thoughts, however, flew away at moments like a 
flock of sparrows, into which some one has fired from 
behind a hedge suddenly, and it grew empty in Pan Stanis- 
lav’s head. ‘Then phrases of this kind came to his lips 
mechanically: “The eighth of April— to-morrow will be 
Wednesday! to-morrow will be Wednesday! my watch! 
to-morrow will be Wednesday!” Later he roused him- 
self, repeated, ‘One must be an idiot!” and the scattered 
birds flew back again in a whole flock to his head, and 
began to whirl around in it. 

Meanwhile Abdulski, the agent of the house of Polany- 
etski, Bigiel, and Company came in. He was to be the 
second groomsman, with Bukatski as first. Being a Tartar 
by origin and a man of dark complexion, though good-look- 
ing, he seemed so handsome in the dress-coat and white 
cravat that Pan Stanislav expressed the hope that surely 
he would marry soon. Abdulski answered, — 

“The soul would to paradise;” then he commenced a 
pantomime, intended to represent the counting of money, 
and began to speak of the Bigiels. All their children 
wanted to be at the marriage. The Bigiels decided to take 
only the two elder ones; from this arose disagreements and 
difference of opinion, expressed on Pani Bigiel’s side by 
means of slaps. Pan Stanislav, who was a great children’s 
man, was exceedingly indignant at this, and said, — 

“Tl play a trick on the Bigiels. Have they gone al- 
ready ?” 

os They were just going.” 

‘That is well; I will run in there on the way to Plavit- 
ski’s, take all the children, and pour them out before Pani 
Bigiel and my affianced.” 

Abdulski expressed the conviction that Pan Stanislav 
would not do so; but he merely confirmed him thereby in 
his plan all the more. In fact, when he entered the car- 
riage, they drove for the children directly. The governess, 
knowing Pan Stanislav’s relations with the family, dared 
not oppose him; and half an hour later, Pan Stanislav, to 
the great consternation of Pani Bigiel, entered Plavitski’s 


284 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


lodgings at the head of a whole flock of little Bigiels, in 
their every-day clothing, with collars awry, hair disarranged 
for the greater part, and faces half happy, half frightened, 
and, hurrying up to Marynia, he said, kissing her hands 
already enclosed in white gloves, — 

“They wanted to wrong the children. Say that I did 
well.” 

This proof of his kind heart entertained and pleased 
Marynia; hence she was glad from her whole soul to see 
the children, and even glad of this, —that the assembled 
guests considered her future husband an original, — and ¢’ad 
because Pani Bigiel, straightening the crooked ee lars hur- 
riedly, said in her worry, — 

“ What’s to be done with such a madman ? ” 

Somewhat of this opinion too was old Plav’iski. But 
Pan Stanislav and Marynia were occupied for tee moment 
with each other so exclusively that everything eise vanished 
from their eyes. The hearts of both beat a little unquietly. 
He looked at her with a certain admiration. Al in white, 
from her slippers to her gloves, with a green wreath on her 
head, and a long veil, she seemed to him other than usual. 
There was in her something uncommonly solemn, as in the 
dead Litka. Pan Stanislav did not make, it is true, that 
comparison; but he felt that this white Marynia, if not more 
remote from him, made him hesitate more than she of 
yesterday, arrayed in her ordinary costume. Withal she 
seemed less comely than usual, for the wedding wreath is 
becoming to women only exceptionally, and, besides, disquiet 
and emotion reddened her face; which, with the white robe, 
seemed still redder than it was in reality. Buta wonderful 
thing! Just this circumstance moved Pan Stanislav. In 
his heart, rather kind by its nature, there rose a certain 
feeling resembling compassion or tenderness. He under- 
stood that Marynia’s heart must be panting then like a 
captive bird, and he began to calm her; to speak to her 
with such good and kind words that he was astonished him- 
self where he could find them in such numbers, and how 
they came to him so easily. But they came to him easily 
just because of Marynia. It was to be seen that she gave 
herself to him with a panting of the heart, but also with 
confidence; that she gave him her heart, her soul, and her 
whole being, her whole life, and that not only for good, but 
for every moment of her life—and to the end of it. In 
this regard no shadow rose in Pan Stanislav’s mind, and 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 285 


that certainty made him better at that moment, more 
sensitive and eloquent, than he was ordinarily. At last they 
held each the other’s hand and looked into each other’s eyes, 
not only with love, but with the greatest friendship and 
confidence. Both felt the double reality. Yet afew mo- 
ments, and that future will begin. But now the thoughts 
of both began to grow clear; and that internal disquiet, 
from which they had not been free, yielded more and more 
and turned into a solemn concentration of thought, as the 
religious ceremony drew near. Pan Stanislav’s thoughts 
did not fly apart like sparrows; there remained to him only 
a certain astonishment, as it were, that he with all his 
scepticism had such a feeling even of the religious signifi- 
eance of the act which was about to be accomplished. At 
heart he was not a sceptic. In his soul there was hidden 
even a certain yearning for religious sensations; and if he 
had not returned to them it was only through a loss of 
habit and through spiritual negligence. Scepticism, at 
most, had shaken the surface of his thoughts, just as wind 
roughens the surface of water; the depths of which are still 
calm. He had lost, too, familiarity with forms; but to 
regain it was a work for the future and Marymia. Mean- 
while this ceremony to which he must yield seemed to him 
so important, so full of solemnity and sacredness, that he 
was ready to proceed to it with bowed head. 

But first he had another ceremony, which, equally solemn 
in itself, was disagreeable enough to Pan Stanislav ; namely, 
to kneel before Pan Plavitski, whom he considered a fool, 
receive his blessing and hear an exhortation, which, as was 
known, Plavitski would not omit. Pan Stanislav had said 
in his mind, however, ‘‘Since I am to marry, I must pass 
throuch all which precedes it, and with a good face; little 
do I care what expression that monkey, Bukatski, will have 
at such moments.” Therefore he knelt with all readiness 
at Marvnia’s side before het father, and listened to his 
blessing with an exhortation, which, by the way, was not 
long. Plavitski himself was moved really ; his voice and 
his hands trembled ; he was barely able to pronounce some- 
thing in the nature of an adjuration to Pan Stanislav, not 
to prevent Marynia from coming even oceasionally to pray 
at his grave before it was grown over completely with grass. 

Finally, the solemnity of the moment affected Yozio 
Bigiel. ‘Seeing Pan Plavitski’s tears, seeing Marynia and 
Pan Stanislav on their knees (kneeling at Bigiel’s house 


286 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


a 


was not only a punishment, but frequently the beginning 
of more vigorous instruction), Yozio gave expression to his 
sympathy and fear by closing his eyes, opening his mouth, 
and breaking into as piercing a wail as he could utter. 
When the rest of the little Bigiels followed his example in 
great part, and all began to move, for the time to pass to 
the church had arrived, the grave of Pan Plavitski grown 
over with grass could not call forth an impression suffi- 
ciently elegiac. 

Sitting in the carriage between Abdulski and Bukatski, 

Pan Stanislav hardly answered their questions in half 
words ; he took no part in the conversation, but kept up a 
monologue with himself. He thought that in a couple of 
minutes that would come to pass of which he had been 
dreaming whole months ; and which till the death of Litka 
he had desired with the greatest earnestness of his life. 
Here for the last time he was roused by a feeling of the 
difference between that past which not long since had van- 
ished, and the present moment; but there was a difference, 
Formerly he strove and desired; to-day he only wished and 
consented. That thought pierced him like a shudder, for it 
shot through his head that perhaps there was lacking in 
his own personality that basis on which one may build. 
But he was a man able to keep his alarms in close bonds, 
and to scatter them to the four winds at a given moment. 
He said to himself, therefore: “ First, there is no time to 
think of this; and second, reality does not answer always 
to imaginings; this is a simple thing.” Then what 
Bukatski had said pushed again into his memory: “It is not 
enough to take, a man must give;” but he thought this a 
fabric of such fine threads that it had no existence what- 
ever, and that life should be taken more simply, that there 
is no obligation to come to terms with preconceived theories. 
Here he repeated what he had said to himself frequently, 
“T marry, and that is the end.’ Then reality embraced 
him, or rather the present moment; he had nothing in his 
head but Marynia, the church, and the ceremony. 

She on the way meanwhile implored God in silence to 
help her to make her husband happy; for herself she 
begged also a little happiness, being certain, moreover, 
that her dead mother would obtain that for her. 

Then they went arm in arm between the lines of invited 
and curious people, seeing somewhat as through a mist 
lights gleaming in the distance on the altar, and at the sides 


j - 
. 
Pm 


“~~ + 
” 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 287 


faces known and unknown. Both saw more distinctly the 
face of Pani Emilia, who wore the white veil of a Sister of 
Charity, her eyes at once smiling and filled with tears, 
Litka came to the minds of both; and it occurred to them 
that it was precisely she who was conducting them to the 
altur. After a while they knelt down; before them was the 
priest, higher up the gleaming of the candles, the glitter of 
gold, and the holy face of-the principal image. The cere- 
mony commenced, ‘They repeated after the priest the 
usual phrases of the marriage vow; and Pan Stanislav, hold- 
ing Marynia’s hand, was seized suddenly by emotion such 
as he had not expected, and such as he had not felt since. 
his mother had brought him to first communion. He felt 
that that was not a mere every-day legal act, in virtue of 
which a man receives the right to a woman; but in that 
binding of hands, in that vow, there is present a certain 
mysterious power from beyond this world, — that it is simply 
God before whom the soul inclines and the heart trembles. 
The ears of both were struck then in the midst of silence 
by the solemn words, “ Quod Deus junxit, homo non dis- 
jungat ;” but Pan Stanislav felt that that Marynia whom 
he had taken becomes his body and blood, and a part of his 
soul, and that for her too he must be the same. That mo- 
ment a chorus of voices in the choir burst out with “ Veni 
Creator,” and a few moments after the Polanyetskis went 
forth from the church. On the way out, the arms of Pani 
Emilia embraced Marynia once again: “May God bless 
you!” and when they drove to the wedding reception, she 
went to the cemetery to tell Litka the news, that Pan Stas 
was married that day to Marynia. 


288 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


Two weeks later, in Venice, the doorkeeper of the Hotel 
Bauer gave Pan Stanislav a letter with the postmark of 
Warsaw. It was at the moment when he and his wife were 
entering a gondola to go to the church of Santa Maria della 
Salute, where on that day, the anniversary of her death, a 
Mass was to be offered for the soul of Marynia’s mother. 
Pan Stanislav, who expected nothing important from War- 
saw, put the letter in his pocket, and asked his wife, — 

“But is it not a little too early for Mass?” 

“Tt is; a whole half hour.” 

“Then perhaps it would please thee to go first to the 
Rialto?” 

Marynia was always ready to go. Never having been 
abroad before, she simply lived in continual rapture, and 
it seemed to her that all which surrounded her was a dream. 
More than once, in the excess of her delight, she threw 
herself on her husband’s neck, as if he had built Venice, 
as if she ought to thank him alone for its beauty. More 
than once she repeated, — 

“T look and I see, but cannot believe that this is real.” 

So they went to the Rialto. There was little movement 
yet, because of the early hour; the water was as if sleep- 
ing, the day calm, clear, but not very bright, — one of those 
days in which the Grand Canal with all its beauty has the 
repose of a cemetery; the palaces seem deserted and for- 
gotten, and in their motionless reflection in the water is 
that peculiar deep sadness of dead things. One looks at 
them then in silence, and as if in fear, lest by words the 
general repose may be broken. 

Thus did Marynia look. But Pan Stanislav, less sensi- 
tive, remembered that he had a letter in his pocket, hence 
he drew it forth, and began to read. After a time he 
exclaimed, — 

“ Ah! Mashko is married; their wedding was three days 
after ours.” 

But Marynia, as if roused from a dream, inquired, while 
blinking, “ What dost thou say?” 

“T say, dreaming head, that Mashko’s wedding is over.” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 289 


She rested her head on his shoulder, and, looking into 
his eyes, inquired, — 

“What is Mashko to me? I have my Stas.” 

Pan Stanislav smiled like a man who kindly permits 
himself to be loved, but does not wonder that he is loved; 
then he kissed his wife on the forehead, with a certain 
distraction, for the letter had begun to occupy him, and 
read on. All at once he sprang up, as if something had 
pricked him, and cried, — 

“Oh, that is a real catastrophe!” 

“What has happened? ” 

“Panna Kraslavski has a life annuity of nine thousand 
rubles, which her uncle left her; beyond that, not a 
copper.” 

“But that is a good deal.” 

“A good deal? Hear what Mashko writes: — 


“*In view of this, my bankruptcy is an accomplished fact, and the 
declaration of my insolvency a question of time.’ 


“They deceived each other; dost understand? He 
sounted on her property, and she on his.” 

“At least they have something to live on.” 

“They have something to live on; but Mashko has noth- 
ing with which to pay his debts, and that concerns us a 
little, — me, thee, and thy father. All may be lost.” 

Here Marynia was alarmed in earnest. ‘ My Stas,” said 
she, “perhaps thy presence is needed there; let us return, 
then. What a blow this will be to papa!” 

“JT will write Bigiel immediately to take my place, and 
save what is possible. Do not take this business to heart 
too much, my child. I have enough to buy a bit of bread 
for us both, and for thy father.” 

Marynia put her arms around his neck. “Thou, my 
good— With such a man one may be at rest.” 

“Besides, something will be saved. If Mashko finds 
eredit, he will pay us; he may find a purchaser, too, for 
Kremen. He writes me to ask Bukatski to buy Kremen, 
' and to persuade him to do so. Bukatski is going to Rome 
this evening, and I have invited him to lunch. I will ask 
him. He has a considerable fortune, and would have 
something to do. I am curious to know how Mashko’s 
life will develop. He writes at the end of the letter: 


“*T discovered the condition of affairs to my wife; she bore herself 
passively, but her mother is wild with indignation.’ 
19 




















290 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“Finally he adds that at last he has fallen in love with 
his wife, and that if they should separate, it would be the 
greatest unhappiness in life for him. ‘That lyric tale gives 
me little concern; but I am curious as to how all this will 
end.” : 

“She will not desert him,” said Marynia. 

“T do not know; I thought myself once that she would 
not, but I like to contradict. Wilt thou bet?” 

“No; for 1 do not wish to win. Thou ugly man, thou 
hast no knowledge of women.” 

“On the contrary, | know them; and I know them 
because all are not like this little one who is sailing now 
in a gondola.” 

“In a gondola in Venice, with her Stas,” answered — 
Marynia. 

They were now at the church. When they went from 
Mass to the hotel, they found Bukatski, dressed for the 
road, in a cross-barred gray suit, — which, on his frail body, 
seemed too large, — in yellow shoes and a fantastic cravat, 
tied as fancifully as carelessly. 

“T am going to-day,” said he, after he had greeted 
Marynia. ‘Do you command me to prepare a dwelling in 
Florence for you? I can engage some palace.” 

“Then you will halt on the road to Rome?” 

“Yes. First, to give notice in the gallery of your 
coming, and to put a sofa on the stairs for you; second, I 
halt for black coffee, which is bad throughout Italy in 
general, but in Florence, at Giacosa’s, Via Tornabuoni, it 
is exceptionally excellent. That, however, is the one 
thing of value in Florence.” 

“What pleasure is there for you in always saying some- 
thing different from what you think?” 

“But I am thinking seriously of engaging nice lodgings 
on Lung-Arno for you.” 

“We shall stop at Verona.” 

“For Romeo and Juliet? Of course; of course! Go 
now; later you would shrug your shoulders if you thought 
of them. Ina month it would be too late for you to go, 
perhaps.” 

Marynia started up at him like a cat; then, turning to- 
her husband, said, — 

“Stas, don’t let this gentleman annoy me so!” 

“Well,” answered Pan Stanislav, “I will cut his head 
off, but after lunch.” 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 291 


Bukatski began to declaim : — 


“It is not yet near day : 
It was the nightingale, and not the lark, 
That piere’d the feartul hollow of thine ear.” 


Then, turning to Marynia, he inquired, “ Has Pan Stanislav 
written a sonnet for you?” 

“ No.” 

“Oh, that is a bad sign. You have a balcony on the 
street; has it never come once to his head to stand under 
your balcony with a guitar?” 

No.” 

“Oh, very bad!” 

“But there is no place to stand here, for there is water.” 

“He might go in a gondoka, With us it is different, you 
see; but here in Italy the. air is such that if a man is in 
love really, he either writes sonnets, or stands under a 
baleony with a guitar. It is a thing perfectly certain, 
resulting from the geographical position, the currents of 
the sea, the chemical make-up of the air and the water 
if a man does not write sonnets, or stand out of doors with 
a guitar, surely he is not in love. I can bring you very 
famous books on this subject.” 

“Tt seems that I shall be driven to cut his head off 
before lunch,” said Pan Stanislav. 

The execution, however, did not come, for the reason 
that it was just time for lunch. They sat down at a 
separate table, but in the same hall was a general one, 
which for |] Marynia, whom everything interested, was a 
source of pleasure, too, for she saw real English people. 
This made on her such an impression as if she had gone 
to some land of exotics; for since Kremen is Kremen, not 
one of its inhabitants had undertaken a similar journey. 
For Bukatski, and even Pan Stanislav, her delight was a 
source of endless jokes, but also of genuine pleasure. The 
first said that she reminded him of his youth; the second 
called his wife a “field daisy,” and said that one was not 
sorry to show the world to a woman like her. Bukatski 
noticed, however, that the “field daisy’ had much feeling 
for art and much honesty. Many things were known to 
her from books or pictures; not knowing others, she 
acknowledged this openly, but in her expressions there 
was nothing artificial or affected. When a thing touched 
her heart, her delight had no bounds, so that her eyes 


292 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


became moist. At one time Bukatski jested with her 
unmercifully; at another he persuaded her that all the 
connoisseurs, so called, have a nail in the head, and that 
she, as a sensitive and refined nature, and so far unspoiled, 
was for him of the greatest importance in questions of art; 
she would be still more important if she were ten years 
of age. 

At lunch they did not talk of art, because Pan Stanislay 
remembered his news from Warsaw, and said, — 

“T had a letter from Mashko.” 

“ And I, too,” answered Bukatski. 

“And thou? They must be hurried there; Mashko must 
be pressed in real earnest. Is the question known to 
thee?” 

“He persuades me, or rather, he implores me, to buy — 
dost thou know what?” 

Bukatski avoided Kremen, knowing well what trouble 
it had caused, and was silent through delicacy toward 
Marynia. 

But Pan Stanislav, understanding his intention, said, — 

“Oh, my God! Once we avoided that name as a sore 
spot, but now, before my wife, it is something different. 
\t is hard to be tied up a whole lifetime.” 

Bukatski looked at him quickly; Marynia blushed a 
little, and said, — 

“Stas is perfectly right. Besides, I know that it is a 
question of Kremen.” 

“Yes, it is of Kremen.” 

“Well, and what?” asked Pan Stanislav. 

“JT should not buy it even because of this, —that the 
lady might have the impression that people are tossing 
it about like a ball.” 

“Tf I do not think at all of Kremen?” said Marynia, 
blushing still more. She looked at her husband; and he 
nodded in sign of praise and satisfaction. 

“That is a proof,” answered he, “that thou art a child 
of good judgment.” 

“At the same time,” continued Marynia, “if Pan Mashko 
does not hold out, Kremen will either be divided, or go 
into usurers’ hands, and that to me would be disagreeable.” 

“Ah, ha!” said Bukatski, “but if you do not think at 
all of Kremen?” 

Marynia looked again at her husband, and this time 
with alarm; he began to laugh, however. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 293 


**Marynia is caught,” said he. 

Then he turned to Bukatski. “Evidently Mashko looks 
on thee as the one plank of salvation.” 

“But I am not a plank; look at me! I am a straw, 
rather. The man who wishes to save himself by such a 
straw will drown. Mashko has said himself more than 
once to me, ‘ Thou hast blunted nerves.’ Perhaps I have; 
but I need strong impressions for that very reason. If I 
were to help Mashko, he would work himself free, stand 
on his feet, give himself out as a lord still further; his 
wife would personate a great lady, they would be terribly 
comme il faut, and I should have the stupid comedy, 
which I have seen already, and which I have yawned at. 
If, on the other hand, I do not help him, he will be 
ruined, he will perish, something interesting will happen, 
unexpected events will come to pass, something tragic may 
result, which will occupy me more. Now, think, both of 
you, I must pay for a wretched comedy, and dearly; the 
tragedy I can have for nothing. How is a man to hesitate 
in this case?” 

“Fi! how can you say such things?” exclaimed Marynia. 

“Not only can I say them, but I shall write them te 
Mashko; besides, he has deceived me in the most unworthy 
manner.” 

“In what?” 

“In what? In this, that I thought: ‘Oh, that is a 
regular snob! that is material for a dark personage; that 
is a man really without heart or scruples!’ Meanwhile, 
what comes out? That at bottom of his soul he has a certain 
honesty; that he wants to pay his creditors; that he is 
sorry for that puppet with red eves; that he loves her; 
that for him separation from her would be a terrible catas- 
trophe. He writes this to me himself most shamelessly. 
I give my word that in our society one can count on noth- 
ing. I will settle abroad, for I cannot endure this.” 

Now Marynia was angry in earnest. 

“Tf you say such things, I shall beg to break relations 
with you.” 

But Pan Stanislav shrugged his shoulders, and added: 
“Tn fact, thy talk is ever on some conceit to amuse thyself 
and others, and never wilt thou think with judgment and 
in human fashion. Dost understand, I de not persuade 
thee to buy Kremen, and all the more because .I might 
have a certain interest to do so; but there would be some 
occupation for thee there, something to do.” 


294 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Here Bukatski began to laugh, and said after a while, — 

“T told thee once that I like, above all, to do what 
pleases me, and that it pleases me most to do nothing; 
hence it is that doing nothing I do what pleases me most. 
If thou art wise, prove that I have uttered nonsense. 
‘Take the second case: Suppose me a buckwheat sower; 
that, however, simply passes imagination. I, for whom 
rain or fine weather is merely the question of choosing a 
cane or an umbrella, would have, in my old age, to stand 
on one leg, like a stork, and look to see whether it pleases 
the sun to shine, or the clouds to drop rain. I should 
have to tremble as to whether my wheat is likely to grow, 
or my rape-seed shed, or rot fall on the potatoes; whether 
I shall be able to stake my peas, or furnish his Worship 
of Dogweevil as many bushels as I have promised; whether 
my plough-horses have the glanders, and my sheep the foot- 
rot. I should, in my old age, come to this,—that from 
blunting of faculties I would interject after every three 
words: ‘ Pan Benefactor,’ or ‘ What is it that I wanted to 
say?’ Voyons! pas si béte! I,a free man, should become 
a glebe adscriptus, a ‘ Neighbor,’ a‘ Brother Lata,’ a ‘ Pan 
Matsyei,’ a ‘ Lechit.’ ”? 

Here, roused a little by the wine, he began to quote in 
an undertone the words of Slaz in “ Lilla Weneda”:— 


“AmTIaLechit? What does this mean? Are boorishness, 
Drunkenness, gluttony, gazing from my eyes 
With the seven deadly sins, a passion for uproar, 
Pickled cucumbers, and escutcheons ? ” 


“ Argue with him,” said Pan Stanislav, “especially when 
at the root of the matter he is partly right.” 

But Marynia, who as soon as Bukatski had begun to 
speak of work in the country, grew somewhat thoughtful, 
shook thoughtfulness now from her forehead, and said, — 

“When papa was not well, —and never in Kremen has 
he been so well as recently, —I saved him a little in 
management, and later that work became for me a habit. 
Though God knows there was no lack of troubles, it gave 
me a pleasure that I cannot describe. But I did not 
understand the cause of this till Pan Yamish explained it. 
‘That,’ said he, ‘is the real work on which the world 
stands, and every other is either the continuation of it, 
or something artificial.’ Later I understood even things 


1 Polish noble. 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 2U5 


which he did not explain. More than once, when I went 
out to the fields in spring, and saw that all things were 
growing, I felt that ny heart, too, was growing with them. 
And now I know why that is: In all other relations that a 
man holds there may be deceit, but the land is truth. It 
is impossible to deceive the land; it either gives, or gives 
not, but it does not deceive. Therefore land is loved, as 
truth; and because one loves it, it teaches one to love. 
And the dew falls not only on grain, and on meadows, but 
on the soul, as it were; and a man becomes better, for he 
has to deal with truth, and he loves, — that is, he is nearer 
God. Therefore I loved my Kremen so much.” 

Here Marynia became frightened at her own speech, 
and at this, what would “Stas ” think; at the same time 
reminiscences had roused her. All this was reflected in her 
eyes as the dawn, and on her young face; and she was 
herself like the dawn. 

Bukatski looked at her as he would at some unknown 
newly discovered master-piece of the Venetian school ; then 
he closed his eyes, and hid half of his small face in his 
enormous fantastic cravat, and whispered, — 

* Délicieuse !” 

Then, thrusting forth his chin from his cravat, he 
said, — 

“You are perfectly right.” 

But the logical woman would not let herself be set aside 
by a compliment. 

“Tf I am right, you are not.” 

“That is another matter. You are right because it 
‘becomes you; a woman in that case is always right.” 

“Stas!” said Marynia, turning to her husband. But 
there was so much charm in the woman at that moment, 
that he also looked on her with delight, his eyes smiled, 
his nostrils moved with a quick motion; for a moment he 
covered her hand with his, and said, — 

“Oh, child, child!” 

Then he inclined to her, and whispered, — 

“If we were not in this hall, I would kiss those dear 
eyes and that mouth.” 

And, speaking thus, Pan Stanislav made a great mistake, 
for at that moment it was not. enough to feel the physical 
charm of Marynia, to be roused at the color of her face, 
her eyes, or her mouth, but it was necessary to feel the 
soul in her; to what an extent he did not feel it was shown 


296 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


by his fondling words, “O child, child!” She was for 
him at that moment only a charming child-woman, and 
he thought of nothing else. 

Just then coffee was brought. To end the conversation, 
Pan Stanislav said, — 

“So Mashko has come out a lover, and that after 
marriage.” 

Bukatski swallowed a cup of boiling coffee, and answered, 
“Tn this is the stupidity, that Mashko is the man, not in 
this, —that the love was after marriage. I have not said 
anything sensible. If I have, I beg pardon most earnestly, 
and promise not to do so a second time. I have burned my 
tongue evidently with the hot coffee! I drink it so hot 
because they tell me that it is good for headache; and my 
head aches, aches.” 

Here Bukatski placed his palm on his neck and the back 
of his head, and blinked, remaining motionless for a few 
seconds. 

‘‘T am talking and talking,” said he, then, “but my head 
aches. I should have gone to my lodgings, but Svirski, 
the artist, is to come to me here. We are going to Florence 
together; he is a famous painter in water-colors, really 
famous. Noone has brought greater force out of water 
colors. But see, he is just coming!” 

In fact, Svirski, as if summoned by a spell, appeared in 
the hall, and began to look around for Bukatski. Espying 
him at last, he approached the table. 

He was a robust, short man, with hair as black as if he 
were an Italian. He had an ordinary face, but a wise, 
deep glance, and also mild. While walking, he swayed a 
little because of his wide hips. 

Bukatski presented him to Marynia in the following 
words, — 

“JT present to you Pan Svirski, a painter, of the genus 
genius, who not only received his talent, but had the most 
happy idea of not burying it, which he might have done 
as well, and with equal benefit to mankind, as any other 
man. But he preferred to fill the world with water-colors 
and with fame.” 

Svirski smiled, showing two rows of teeth, wonderfully 
small, but white as ivory, and said, — 

“T wish that were true.” 

“And I will tell you why he did not bury his talent,” 
continued Bukatski; ‘this reasons were so parochial that 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 297 


it would be a shame for any decent artist to avow them. 
He loves Pognembin, which is somewhere in Poznan, or 
thereabouts, and he loves it because he was born there. 
If he had been born in Guadeloupe he would have loved 
Guadeloupe, and love for Guadeloupe would have saved 
him in life also. ‘This man makes me indignant; and 
will the lady tell me if I am not right?” 

To this Marynia answered, raising her blue eyes to 
Svirski, “Pan Bukatski is not so bad as he seems, for he 
has said everything that is good of you.” 

“T shall die with my qualities known,” whispered 
Bukatski. 

Svirski was looking meanwhile at Marynia, as only an 
artist can permit himself to look at a woman, and not 
offend. Interest was evident in his eyes, and at last he 
muttered, — 

“To see such a head all at once, here in Venice, is a 
genuine surprise.” 

“What?” asked Bukatski. 

“T say, that the lady is of a wonderfully well-defined 
type. Oh, this, for example ” (here he drew a line with his 
thumb along his nose, mouth, and chin). “And also what 
purity of outline!” 

“Well, isn’t it true?” asked Pan Stanislav, with excite- 
ment. “I have always thought the same.” 

“TJ will lay a wager that thou hast never thought of it,” 
retorted Bukatski. 

But Pan Stanislav was glad and proud of that interest 
which Marynia roused in the famous artist; hence he 
said, -— 

“Tf it would give you any pleasure to paint her portrait, 
it would give me much more to have it.” 

“From the soul of my heart,” answered Svirski, with 
simplicity; “but I am going to Rome to-day. There I 
have begun the portrait of Pani Osnovski.” 

“And we shall be in Rome no later than ten days from 
now.” 

‘Then we are agreed.” 

Marynia returned thanks, blushing to her ears. But 
Bukatski began to take farewell, and drew Svirski after 
him. When they had gone out, he said, — 

“We have time yet. Come to Floriani’s for a glass of 
cognac.” 

Bukatski did not know how to drink, and didn’t like 


298 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


spirits; but since he had begun to take morphine, he drank | 
more than he could endure, because some one had told him 
that one neutralized the other. 

“ What a delightful couple those Polanyetskis are!” said 
Svirski. 

“They are not long married.” 

“Tt is evident that he loves her immensely. When I 
praised her, his eyes were smiling, and he rose as if on 
yeast.” 

“She loves him a hundred times more.” 

“What knowledge hast thou in such matters?” 

Bukatski did not answer; he only raised his pointed 
nose, and said, as if to himself, — 

“Oh, marriage and love have disgusted me; for it is 
always profit on one side, and sacrifice on the other. 
Polanyetski is a good man, but what of that? She has 
just as much sense, just as much character, but she loves 
more; therefore life will tix itself for them in this way, — 
he will be the sun, he will be gracious enough to shine, to 
warm, will consider her as his property, as a planet made 
to circle around him. All this is indicated to-day. She 
has entered his sphere. There is in him a certain self- 
confidence which angers me. He will have her with an 
income, but she will have him alone without an income. 
He will permit himself to love, considering his love as 
virtue, kindness, and favor; she will love, considering her 
love as a happiness and a duty. Look, if you please, at 
him, the divine, the resplendent! I want to go back and 
tell them this, in the hope that they will be less happy.” 

Meanwhile the two men had taken seats in front of 
Floriani’s, and soon cognae was brought to them. Svirski 
thought some time over the Polanyetskis, and then 
inquired, — 

“But if the position is pleasant for her?” 

“T know that she has short sight; she might be pleased 
quite as well to wear glasses.” 

‘*Go to the deuce! glasses on a face like hers —” 

“This makes thee indignant; but the other makes me —” 

“Yes, for thou hast a kind of coffee-mill in thy head, 
which grinds, and grinds everything till it grinds it into 
fine dust. What dost thou want of love in general?” 

“T, of love? I want nothing of love! Let the devil 
take him who wants anything of love! I have sharp pains 
in my shoulder-blades from it. But if I were other than 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 299 


I am, if I had to describe what love ought to be, if I 
wanted anything of it, then I should wish —” 

“What? hop! jump over!” 

“That it were composed in equal parts of desire and 
reverence.” 

Then he drank a glass of cognac, and added after a 
while, — 

“Tt seems to me that I have said something which may 
be wise, if it is not foolish. But it is all one to me.” 

“No! it is not foolish.” 

“ As God lives, it is all one to me.” 


300 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


AFTER a Stay of one week in Florence, Pan Stanislav re- 
ceived his first letter from Bigiel concerning the business 
of the house, and news so favorable that it almost sur- 
passed his expectations. The law prohibiting export of 
grain because of the famine was proclaimed. But the tirm 
had enormous supphes bought and exported previously; 
and because prices, especially at the first moment, had 
risen excessively abroad, Bigiel and Polanyetski began to 
do perfect business. Speculation, planned and carried 
through on a great scale, turned out so profitable that 
from well-to-do people, which they were before, they had 
become almost rich. For that matter Pan Stanislav had 
been sure of his business from the beginning, and enter- 
tained no fears; the news, however, pleased him both with 
reference to profit and his own self-love. Success intoxi- 
cates a man and strengthens his self-confidence. So, in 
talking with Marynia, he was not able to refrain from 
giving her to understand that he had an uncommon head, 
unquestionably higher than all those around him, like a 
tree the loftiest in the forest; that he is a man who always 
reaches the place at which he has aimed, —in a word, a 
kind of phoenix in that society, abounding in men who 
know not how to help themselves. In the whole world 
he could not have found a listener more willing and ready 
to accept everything with the deepest faith. 

“Thou art a woman,” said he, not without a shade of 
loftiness; “therefore why tell thee the affair from the 
beginning, and enter into details. To thee, as a woman, I 
can explain all best if I say thus: I was not in a condi- 
tion yesterday to buy the medallion with a black pearl 
which I showed thee at Godoni’s; to-day I am, and will 
buy it.” 

Marynia thanked him, and begged that he would not 
do so; but he insisted, and said that nothing would re- 
strain him, that that was resolved on, and Marynia must 
consider herself the owner of the great black pearl, which, 
on such a white neck as hers, would be beautiful. Then 
he fell to kissing that neck; and when finally he had satis- — 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 301 


fied himself, but still felt the need of a listener of some 
sort, he began to walk in the room, smiling at his wite 
and at his own thoughts, saying, — 

“T do not mention those who do nothing: Bukatski, 
for instance, who is known to be good for nothing, nor 
asses like Kopovski, who is known to have a cat’s head; 
but take even men who do something, —men of mind 
seemingly. Never would Bigiel seize a chance on the 
wing: he would set to thinking over it, and to putting 
it off; to-day he would decide, and to-morrow be afraid, 
and the time would be gone. What is the point in ques- 
tion? First, to have a head, and second, to sit down and 
calculate. And if one decides to act, then act. It is 
needful, too, to be cool, and not pose. Mashko is no fool, 
one might think; but see what he has worked out! I have 
not gone his way, and shall not follow him.” 

Thus speaking, he continued to walk and to shake his 
thick, dark hair; and Marynia, who, in every case, would 
have listened to his words with faith, received them now 
as an infallible principle, all the more that they rested on 
tangible success. 

He stopped before her at last, and said, — 

“Knowest what I think? that coolness is judgment. It 
is possible to have an intelligent head, to take in knowl- 
edge as a sponge absorbs liquid, and still not to have 
sound, sober judgment. Bukatski is for me a proof of 
this. Do not think me vain; but if I, for instance, knew 
as much about art as he does, I should have a sounder 
judgment concerning it. He has read so much, and caught 
up so many opinions, that at last he has none of his own. 
Surely, from the materials which he has collected, I should 
have squeezed out something of my own.” 

“Oh, that is sure,” said Marynia, with perfect con- 
fidence. 

Pan Stanislav might have been right in a certain view. 
He was not a dull man by any means, and it may be 
that his intelligence was firmer and more compact than 
Bukatski’s; but it was less flexible and less comprehen- 
sive. This did not occur to him. He did not think, also, 
that in that moment, under the influence of boastfulness, 
he was saying things before Marynia which the fear of 
ridicule and criticism would have restrained him from say- 
ing before strangers, sceptical persons. But he did not 
restrain himself before Marynia; he judged that if he could 


302 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


permit himself such little boastfulness before any one, it 
was before his wife. Besides, as he himself said, “He 
had taken her, and all was over.” Moreover, she was his 
own. 

In general, he had not felt so happy and satisfied at any 
time in life as then. He had experienced material success, 
and considered the future as guaranteed; he had married 
a woman, young, charming, and clever, tor whom he had 
become a dogma, — and the position could not be otherwise, 
since her lips were not dry for whole days from his kisses, 
—and whose healthy and honest heart was filled with grati- 
tude for his love. What could be lacking to him? What 
more could he wish? He was satisfied with himself, for 
he ascribed in great part to his own cleverness and merit, 
his success in so arranging life that everything promised 
peace and prosperity. He saw that life was bitter for 
other men, but pleasant for him, and he interpreted the 
difference to his own advantage. He had thought once 
that a man wishing peace had to regulate his connection 
with himself, with mankind, with God. The first two he 
looked on as regulated. He had a wife, a calling, and a 
future; hence he had given and secured to himself all that 
he could give and secure. As to society, he permitted 
himself sometimes to criticise it, but he felt that in the 
bottom of his soul he loved it really; that even if he 
wished, he could not do otherwise; that if in a given case 
it were necessary to go into water or fire for society, he 
would go, — hence he considered everything settled on that 
side too. His relation with God remained. He felt that 
should that become clear and certain, he might consider 
all life’s problems settled, and say to himself definitely, 
“T know why I have lived, what I wanted, and why I must 
die.” While not a man of science, he had touched enough 
on science to know the vanity of seeking in philosophy 
so-called explanations or answers which are to be sought 
rather in intuition, and, above all, in feeling, in so far as 
the one and the other of these are simple, — otherwise they 
lead to extravagance. At the same time, since he was not 
devoid of imagination, he saw before him, as it were, the 
image of an honest, well-balanced man, a good husband, a 
good father, who labors and prays, who on Sunday takes 
his children to church, and lives a life wonderfully whole- 
some from a moral point of view. That picture smiled at 
him; and in life so much is done for pictures. He 











CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 808 


thought that a society which had a great number of such 
citizens would be stronger and healthier than a society 
which below was composed of boors, and above of sages, 
dilettanti, decadents, and all those forbidden figures with 
sprained intellects. One time, soon after his acquaint- 
ance with Marynia, he had promised himself and Bigiel 
that on finishing with his own person, and with people, he 
would set about this third relation seriously. Now the 
time had come, or at least was approaching. Pan Stanislav 
understood that this work needed more repose than is 
found on a bridal trip, and among the impressions of a 
new life and a new country, and that hurry of hotels and 
galleries in which he lived with Marynia. But, in spite 
of these conditions, in the rare moments when he was with 
his own thoughts, he turned at once to that problem, which 
for him was at that time the main one. He was subject 
meanwhile to various influences, which, small in themselves, 
exercised a certain action, even because he refrained pur- 
posely from opposing them. Of these was the influence 
of Marynia. Pan Stanislav was not conscious of it, and 
would not have owned to its existence; still the continua. 
presence of that calm soul, sincerely and simply pious, 
extremely conscientious in relation to God, gave him an 
idea of the rest and peace to be found in religion. When 
he attended his wife to church, he remembered the words 
which she said to him in Warsaw, “Of course; it is the 
service of God.” Aud he was drawn into it, for at first he 
went to church with her always not to let her go alone, 
and later because it gave him also a certain internal 
pleasure, — such, for example, as the examination of phe- 
nomena gives a scientist specially interested in them. In 
this way, in spite of unfavorable conditions, in spite of 
journeys, and a line of thought interrupted by impressions 
of every sort, he advanced on the new road continually. 
His thoughts had at times great energy and decisiveness in 
this direction. “I feel God,” said he to himself. “I felt 
Him at Litka’s grave; I felt Him, though I did not 
acknowledge it, in the words of Vaskovski about death; I 
felt Him at marriage; I felt Him at home, in the plains, 
and in this country, in the mountains above the snow; and 
I only ask yet how I am to glorify Him, to honor and love 
Him? Is it as pleases me personally, or as my wife does, 
and as my mother taught me?” 

In Rome, however, he ceased at first to think of these 


304 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


things; so many external impressions were gathered at 
once in his mind that there was no room for reflection. 
Moreover, he and Marynia came home in the evening so 
tired that he remembered almost with terror the words of 
Bukatski, who, at times, when serving them as cicerone 
for his own satisfaction, said, “ Ye have not seen the thou- 
sandth part of what is worth seeing; but that is all one, 
for in general it is not worth while to come here, just as 
it is not worth while to stay at home.” 

Bukatksi was then in a fit of contradiction, overturning 
in one statement what he had seemed to affirm in the pre- 
ceding one. 

Professor Vaskovski came, too, from Perugia to greet 
them, which pleased Marynia so much that she met him 
as she would her nearest relative. But, after satisfying 
her first outbursts of delight, she observed in the professor’s 
eyes, as it were, a kind of melancholy. 

‘‘What is the matter?” inquired she. ‘Do you not feel 
well in Italy?” 

“My child,” answered he, “it is pleasant in Perugia, 
and pleasant in Rome—oh, how pleasant! Know this, 
that here, while walking on the streets, one is treading 
on the dust of the world. This, as ! repeat always, is the 
antechamber to another life — but —” 

“But what ?” 

“But people — you see, that is, not from a bad heart, for 
here, as well as everywhere, there are more good than bad 
people; but sometimes I am sad, for here, as well as at 
home, they look on me as a little mad.” 

Bukatski, who was listening to the conversation, said, — 

“Then the professor has more cause for sadness here than 
at home.” 

“Yes,” answered Vaskovski; “I have so many friends 
there, like you, who love me — but here, no — and therefore 
I am homesick.” 

Then he turned to Pan Stanislav: “The journals here 
have printed an account of my essay. Some scoff altogether. 
God be with them! Some agree that a new epoch would 
begin through the introduction of Christ and His spirit into 
history. One writer confessed that individuals treat one 
another in a Christian spirit, but that nations lead a pagan 
life yet. He even called the thought a great one; but he and 
all others, when I affirm this to be a mission which God has 
predestined to us, and other youngest of the Aryans, seize 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 805 


their sides from laughter. And this pains me. They give 
it to be understood also that I have a little here —” 

And poor Vaskovski tapped his forehead with his finger. 
After a while, however, he raised his head and said, — 

“A man sows the seed in sadness and often in doubt; but 
the seed falls on the field, and God grant that it spring up!” 

Then he began to inquire about Pani Emilia; at last he 
turned to them his eyes, which were as if wakened from 
sleep, and asked naively, — 

“ But it is pleasant tor you to be with each other ?” 

Marynia, instead of answering, sprang to her husband, 
and, nestling her head up to his shoulder, said, — 

“Oh, see, Professor, this is how we are together, — so!” 

And Pan Stanislav stroked her dark head with his hand 


306 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


A WEEK later Pan Stanislav took his wife to Svirski’s on 
Via Margutta. Svirski they saw almost daily. They had 
grown accustomed to the artist and liked him; now he was 
to paint Marynia’s portrait. At the studio they found the 
Osnovskis, with whom acquaintance was made the more 
easily since the ladies had met some years before at a party, 
and Pan Stanislav had been presented ona time to Pani 
Osnoyski, at Ostend; he needed merely to remember her 
now. Pan Stanislav, it is true, did not recollect whether at 
that epoch, when, after looking at every young and present- 
able woman, he asked himself, “Is it this one?” he had 
asked this touching the present Pani Osnovski; he might 
have done so, however, for she had the reputation then of 
being a comely, though rather flighty young person. Now 
she was a woman of six or seven and twenty, very tall, a 
fresh, though dark brunette, with cherry lips, dishevelled 
forelock, and somewhat oblique violet eyes, which gave her 
face a resemblance to Chinese faces, and at the same time a 
certain expression of malice and wit. She had a strange 
way of bearing herself, which consisted in thrusting back 
her shoulders and pushing forward her body; in consequence 
of this, Bukatski said of her that she carried her bust en 
offrande. 

Almost immediately she told Marynia that, as they were 
sitting in the same studio, they ought to consider each other 
as colleagues; and told Pan Stanislav that she remembered 
him, from the ball at Ostend, as a good dancer and causeur, 
and therefore that she would not delay in taking advantage 
of that knowledge now. To both she said that it was very 
agreeable to her, that she was delighted with Rome, that she 
was reading “Cosmopolis,” that she was in love with the 
Villa Doria, with the view from the Pincian, that she hoped 
to see the catacombs in company with them, and that she 
knew the works of Rossi, in Allard’s translations. Then, 
pressing Svirski’s hand, and smiling coquettishly at Pan 
Stanislav, she went out, declaring that she gave way to one 
worthier than herself, and left the impression of a whirl- 
wind, a Chinese woman, and a flower. Pan Osnovski, a very 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 807 


young man, with a light blond face without significance, but 
kindly, followed her, and hardly had he been able to put in 
a word. 

Svirski drew a deep breath. 

“Oh, she is a storm!” said he; “TI have a thousand dif- 
ficulties in keeping her at rest two minutes.” 

“But what an interesting face!” said Marynia. “Is it 
permitted to look at the portrait ? ” 

“Tt lacks little of being finished; you may look at it.” 

Marynia and Pan Stanislav approached the portrait, and 
could express admiration without excess of politeness. That 
head, painted in water-colors, had the strength and warmth 
of an oil painting, and at the same time the whole spiritual 
essence of Pani Osnovski was in it. Svirski listened to the 
praises calmly; it was clear that he was pleased with his 
work. He covered the picture, and carried it to a dark 
corner of the studio, seated Marynia in an armchair already 
in position, and began to study her. 

His persistent gaze confused her somewhat,— her cheeks 
began to flush; but he smiled with pleasure, muttering, — 

“Yes; this is another type, — earth and heaven!” 

At moments he closed one eye, which confused Marynia 
still more; at moments he approached the cardboard, and 
again drew back, and again studied her; and again he said, 
as if to himself, — 

“In the other case, one had to bring out the devil, but 
here womanliness.” 

“As you have seen that immediately, I feel sure of a 
masterpiece,” said Pan Stanislav. 

All at once Svirski stopped looking at the paper and at 
Marynia, and, turning to Pan Stanislav, smiled joyously, 
showing his sound teeth. 

“Yes, womanliness! and her own womanliness, that is 
the main characteristic of the face.” 

“And seize it, as you seized the devil in the other one.” 

“Stas!” exclaimed Marynia. 

“It is not | who invented that, but Pan Svirski.” 

“Tf you wish, we will say imp, not devil,— a comely imp, 
but a dangerous one. While painting, I observe various 
things. That is a curious type, — Pani Osnovski.” 

“ee Why? ” 

“Have you observed her husband?” 

" Somehow I was so oceupied with her that I had no 
time. 


308 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 






























“There it is: she hides him in such a degree that he is 
hardly visible; and, what is worse, she herself does not see 
him. At the same time he is one of the most worthy men 
in the world, uncommonly well-bred, considerate to others 
in an unheard-of degree, very rich, and not at all stupid. 
Moreover, he loves her to distraction.” 

Here Svirski began to paint, and repeated, as if in 
forgetfulness, — 

“ Lo-ves her to dis-trac-tion. Be pleased to arrange your 
hair a little about the ear. If your husband is a talker, he 
will be in despair, for Bukatski declares that when I begin 
work my lips never close, and that I let no one have a 
word. She, do you see, may be thus far as pure as a tear, 
_but she is a coquette. She has an icy heart with a fiery 
head. A dangerous species, —oh, dangerous! She devours’ 
books by whole dozens, —naturally French books. She 
learns psychology in them, learns of feminine tempera- 
ments, of the enigma of woman, seeks enigmas in herself, 
which do not exist at all in her, discovers aspirations of 
which yesterday she knew nothing. She is depraving her- 
self mentally; this mental depravation she considers wis- 
fom, and makes no account of her husband.” 

“But you are a terrible man,” remarked Marynia. 

“My wife will hide to-morrow from fear, when the hour 
for sitting comes,” said Pan Stanislav. 

“Tet her not hide; hers is a different type. Osnovski 
is not at all dull; but people, and especially, with your 
permission, women, are so unwise, that if a man’s clever- 
ness does not hit them on the head, if a man lacks confi- 
dence in himself, if he does not scratch like a cat and ent 
like a knife, they do not value him. As God lives, I have 
seen this in life a hundred times.” 

After a while he closed one eye again, gazed at Marynia, 
and continued, — 

“Tn general, how foolish human society is! More than 
once have I put to myself this question: Why is honesty 
of character, heart, and such a thing as kindness, less 
valued than what is called mind? Why, in social life, a 
two categories pre-eminent, wise and foolish? It is no 
the custom, for example, to say, virtuous and unvirtuous 
to such a degree is it not the custom, that the very e 
pressions would seem ridiculous.” 

“Because,” said Pan Stanislav, “mind is the lante 
with which virtue and kindness and heart must light th 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 809 


way for themselves, otherwise they might break their noses, 
or, What is worse, break the noses of other people.” 

Marynia did not utter, it is true, a single word; but in 
her face it was possible to read distinctly, “ How wise this 
Stas is —terribly wise!” 

‘Wise Stas ” added meanwhile, — 

“T am not speaking of Osnovski now, for I do not know 
him.” 

“Osnovski,” said Svirski, “loves his wife as his wife, 
as his child, and as his happiness; but she has her head 
turned, God knows with what, and does not repay him in 
kind. Women interest me, as an unmarried man, im- 
mensely; more than once have I talked whole days about 
women, especially with Bukatski, when they interested 
him more than they do now. Bukatski divides women 
into plebeian souls, by which he means poor and low spirits, 
and into patrician souls, —that is, natures ennobled, full 
of the higher aspirations, and resting on principles, not 
phrases. There is a certain justice in this, but I prefer 
my division, which is simply into grateful and ungrateful 
hearts.” 

Here he withdrew from the sketch for a moment, half 
closed his eyes, then, taking a small mirror, placed it 
toward the picture, and began to look at the reflection. 

“You ask what I mean by grateful and ungrateful 
hearts,” said he, turning to Marynia, though she had not 
asked about anything. “A grateful heart is one which 
feels when it is loved, and is moved by love; and in re- 
turn for the loving, loves more and more, yields itself more 
and more, prizes the loving, and honors it. The ungrate- 
ful heart gets all it can from the love given; and the more 
certain it feels of this love, the less it esteems it, the more 
it disregards and tramples it. It is enough to love a 
woman with an ungrateful heart, to make her cease loving. 
The fisherman is not concerned for the fish in the net; 
therefore Pani Osnovski does not care for Pan Osnovski. 
In the essence of the argument this is the rudest form of 
egotism in existence, — it is simply African; and therefore 
God guard Osnovski, and may the Evil One take her, with 
her Chinese eyes of violet color, and her frizzled forelock! 
To paint such a woman is pleasant, but to marry — we are 
not such fools. Will you believe it, I am in so much dread 
of an ungrateful heart that I have not married so far, 
though my fortieth year has sounded distinctly?” 


310 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“But it is so easy to recognize such a heart,” said 
Marynia. 

“May the Evil One take what is bad!” answered Svirski. 
“Not so easy, especially when a man has lost sense and 
reason.” 

Bending his athletic form, he looked at the sketch some 
time, and said, 

“Well, enough for to-day. As it is, I have talked so 
continuously that flies must have dropped from the walls. 
To-morrow, if you hear too much, just clap your hands. I 
do not talk so with Pani Osnovski, because she herself 
likes to talk. But how many titles of books have I heard? 
Enough of this! I wanted to say something more, but 
have forgotten. Ah! this is it, — you have a grateful 
heart.” ; 

Pan Stanislav laughed, and invited Svirski to dinner, 
promising him the society of Bukatski and Vaskovski. 

“With great delight,” answered Svirski; “I am as much 
alone here as a wild beast. As the weather is clear and 
the moon full, we will go later to see the Colosseum by 
moonlight.” 

The dinner took place, however, without Bukatski’s 
mental hobbies, for he felt out of health, and wrote that 
he could not come. But Svirski and Vaskovski suited 
each other excellently, and became friends right away. 
Only while he was working did Svirski let no one have a 
word; in general, he liked to hear others, knew how to 
usten, and, though the professor and his views seemed to 
him comical sometimes, so much sincerity and kindness 
was evident in the old man that it would have been diffi- 
cult for him not to win people. His mystic face and the 
expression of his eyes struck the artist. He sketched 
him a little in his mind; and, while listening to his talk 
about the Aryans, he thought how that head would look if 
all that was in it were brought out distinctly. 

Toward the end of the dinner the professor asked 
Marynia if she would like to see the Pope. He said that 
in three days a Belgian pilgrimage was to arrive, and that 
she might join it. Svirski, who knew all Rome and all 
the monsignores, guaranteed to effect this with ease. When 
he heard this, the professor looked at him, and inquired, — 

“Then you are almost a Roman?” 

“Of sixteen years’ standing.” 

“Ts it possible! ” 





ee ee 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 811 


Here the professor was somewhat confused, fearing lest 
he had committed some indiscretion, but still wishing to 
know what to think of a man so sympathetic, he overcame 
his timidity, and inquired, — 

“But of the Quirinal, or the Vatican?” 

“From Pognembin,” answered Svirski, frowning slightly. 

The end of the dinner interrupted further explanations 
and converse. Marynia could scarcely sit still at the 
thought that she would see the Capitol, the Forum, and 
the Colosseum by moonlight. In fact, somewhat later 
they were driving toward the ruins along the Corso, which 
was lighted by electricity. 

The night was calm and warm. Around the Forum and 
Colosseum the place was completely deserted; as, for that 
matter, it is in the day sometimes. Near the church of 
Santa Maria Liberatrice some person in an open window 
was playing on a flute, and one could hear every note in 
the stillness. On the front of the Forum a deep shadow fell 
from the height of the Capitol and its edifices; but farther 
on it was flooded with eee greenish light, as was also 
the Colosseum, which seemed silver. When the carriage 
halted at the arches of the gigantic circus, Pan Stanislav, 
Svirski, and Vaskovski entered the interior, and pushed 
toward the centre of the arena, avoiding the fragments of 
columns, friezes, piles of bricks, stones, and bases of 
columns standing here and there, and fragments piled up 
near the arches. Under the influence of silence and loneli- 
ness, words did not rise to their ips. Through the arched 
entrances came to the interior sheaves of moonlight, which 
seemed to rest quietly on the floor of the arena, on the 
opposite walls, on the indentations, on openings in the 
walls, on breaks, on the silvered mosses and ivy, covering 
the ruin here and there. Other parts of the building, 
sunk in impenetrable darkness, produced the impression 
of black and mysterious gulleys. From the low-placed 
cunicula came the stern breath of desolation. Reality was 
lost amidst that labyrinth and confusion of walls, arches, 
bright spots, bright stripes, and deep shadows. ‘The 
colossal ruin seemed to lose its real existence, and to 
become a dream vision, or rather, a kind of wonderful 
ai grog composed of silence, night, the moon, sadness, 
and the remembrance of a past, mighty, but full of blood 
and suffering. 

Svirski began to speak first, and in a subdued voice, — 


312 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL 


“What pain, what tears, were here! what a measureless 
tragedy! Let people say what they please, there is some- 
thing beyond human in Christianity; and that thought 
cannot be avoided.” 

Here he turned to Marynia, and continued, — 

“Tmagine that might: a whole world, millions of people, 
iron laws, power unequalled before or since, an organiza- 
tion such as has never been elsewhere, greatness, glory, 
hundreds of legions, a gigantic city, possessing the world, 
—and that Palatine hill over there, possessing the city; 
it would seem that no earthly power could overturn it. 
Meanwhile two Jews come, — Peter and Paul, not with 
arms, but a word; and see, here is a ruin, on the Palatine 
a ruin, in the Forum a ruin, and above the city crosses, 
crosses, crosses and crosses.” 

Again there was silence; but from the direction of Santa 
Maria Liberatrice the sound of the flute came continually. 

After a while Vaskovski said, pointing to the arena, — 

“There was a cross here, too, but they have borne it 
away.” 

Pan Stanislav was thinking, however, of Svirski’s words; 
for him they had a more vital interest than they could 
have for a man who had finished the spiritual struggle 
with himself. At last he said, following his own course 
of thought, — 

‘*Yes, there is something beyond human in this; some 
truth shines into the eyes here, like that moon.” 

They were going slowly toward the entrance, when a 
carriage rattled outside. ‘Then in the dark passage leading 
to the centre of the circus, steps were heard; two tall 
figures issued from the shade into the light. One of these, 
dressed in gray stuff, which gleamed like steel in the 
moonlight, approached a number of steps to distinguish 
the visitors better, and said all at once, — 

“Good-evening! ‘The night is so beautiful that we, too, 
came to the Colosseum. What a night!” 

Pan Stanislav recognized the voice of Pani Osnovski. 

Giving her hand, she spoke with a voice as soft as the 
sound of that flute which came from the direction of the 
church, — 

“T shall begin to believe in presentiments, for really 
something told me that here I should find acquaintances. 
How beautiful the night is!” 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL 3813 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


On returning to the hotel, Pan Stanislav and Marynia 
were surprised somewhat to find the Osnovskis’ cards; and 
their astonishment rose from this, that, being newly married, 
it was their duty to make the first visit. For this unusual 
politeness it was needful to answer with equal politeness, 
hence they returned the visit on the following day. 
Bukatski, who saw them before they made it, though he 
was very unwell, and could barely drag his feet along, 
brought himself still to one of his usual witticisms, and 
said to Pan Stanislav, when they were alone for a 
moment, — 

“She will play the coquette; but if thou suppose that 
she will fall in love with thee, thou art mistaken. She 
is a little like a razor, —she needs a strap to sharpen her- 
self; in the best event, thou wilt be a strap for her.” 

“First. I do not wish to be her strap,” answered Pan 
Stanislav; “and second, it is too early.” 

“Too early? That means that thou art reserving the 
future for thyself.” 

‘““No; it means that I am thinking of something else, 
and also that I love my Marynia more and more. And 
when that ends, too early will be too late, and that Pani 
Osnovski might dent, but not sharpen herself, on me.” 

And Pan Stanislav, in saying this, was sincere: he had 
his thoughts occupied really with something else; he was 
too honorable to betray his wife at any time, but even if 
not, it was too early to begin. 

He was so greatly sure of his strength that he felt a 
certain readiness to expose himself to trial. In other 
words, it would have given the man a kind of pleasure if 
Pani Osnovski had dented herself on him. 

After lunch he went with Marynia to sit to Svirski; the 
sitting, however, was short, since the artist was judge in 
some exhibition, and had to hasten to a meeting. They 
returned home, and Pan Osnovski came to them a quarter 
of an hour later. 

Pan Stanislav, after his conversation with Svirski, had 
a kind of compassion for Osnovski, but also a sort of 


314 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


small opinion. Marynia, however, felt for him a living 
sympathy; she was won by what she had heard of his 
kindness and delicacy, as well as his attachment to his 
wife. It seemed to her now that all these qualities were 
as if written on his face,—a face by no means ugly, 
though it had pimples here and there. 

After the greeting, Osnovski began to speak with the 
confident freedom of a man accustomed to good society: 

“IT come at the instance of my wite with a proposal. 
Praise to God, visiting ceremonies are ended between us, 
though abroad it is not worth while to reckon too precisely 
in this matter. The affair is this: We are going to 
St. Paul’s to-day, and then to the Three Fountains. That 
is outside the city; there is an interesting cloister in the 
place, and a beautiful view. It would be very agreeable to 
us if you would consent to make the trip in our company.” 

Marynia was always ready for every trip, especially in 
company, and with pleasant conversation; in view of this 
she looked at her husband, waiting for what he would say. 
Pan Stanislav saw that she wished to go, and, besides, he 
thought in his soul, “If the other wants to dent herself, 
let her do it.” And he answered, — 

‘*T would consent willingly, but this depends on my 
superior power.” 

His “superior power” was not sure yet whether the 
obedient subordinate meant that really; but, seeing on his 
face a smile and good-humor, she made bold to say at 
last, — 

‘‘With much thankfulness; but shall we not cause 
trouble? ” 

‘‘Not trouble, but pleasure,” answered Osnovski. “In 
that event the matter is ended. Well be here in a quarter 
of an hour.” 

In fact, they set out a quarter of an hour later. Pani 
Osnovski’s Chinese eyes were full of satisfaction and 
repose. Wearing an iris-colored robe, in which she might 
pass for the eighth wonder of the world, she looked really 
like a rusalka.! And before they had reached St. Paul’s, 
Pan Stanislav did not know how Pani Osnovski, who had ~ 
not spoken on this subject to him, had been able somehow ~ 
to say to him, or at least to give him to understand, more 
or less as follows: “Thy wife is a pleasant little woman 
from the country; of my husband nothing need be said. 

1 River-maiden among the Slavs. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 315 


We two only are able to understand each other and share 
impressions.” 

But he resolved to torment her. When they arrived at 
St. Paul’s, which Pani Osnovski did not mention otherwise 
than as “San Poolo fuori le Mura,” +! her husband wished 
to stop the carriage, but she said, — 

“We will stop when returning, for we shall know then 
how much time is left for this place; but now we’ll go 
straight to the Three Fountains.” 

Turning to Pan Stanislav, she continued, “There are in 
this famous place various things, about which I should 
like to ask you.” 

“Then you will do badly, for I know nothing at all of 
these matters.” 

It appeared soon, on passing various monuments, that 
of the whole party Pan Osnovski knew most. The poor 
man had been studying the guide-books from morning till 
evening, so that he might be a guide for his wife, and 
also to please her with his knowledge. But she cared 
nothing for explanations which her husband could give, 
precisely because they came from him. The insolent self- 
assurance with which Pan Stanislav had confessed that he 
had no idea of antiquities was more to her taste. 

Beyond St. Paul’s opened out a view on the Campagna 
with its aqueducts, which seemed to run toward the city 
in haste, and on the Alban hills, veiled, as they were, with 
the blue haze of distance, —a view at once calm and bright. 
Pani Osnovski gazed for some time with a dreamy look, 
and then inquired, — 

“ Have you been in Albani or Nemi ? ” 

“No,” answered Pan Stanislav; “sitting to Svirski breaks 
‘the day so for us that we cannot make long excursions till 
She portrait is finished.” 

“We have been there; but when you are going, take me 
with you, take me with you! Is itagreed ? Will you per- 
mit?” added she, turning to Marynia. “I shall be a fifth 
wheel to some extent, but never mind. Besides, I shall 
sit quietly, very quietly, in a corner of the carriage, and 
not give out one mru mru! Is it agreed?” 

“Oi! little one, little one,” said Pan Osnovski. 

But she continued, “My husband will not believe that 
1 am in love with Nemi; but I am. When I was there, 
it seemed to me that Christianity had not reached the place 

1 Thus printed to show her style of Italian. 


316 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


yet; that in the night certain priests come out and celebrate 
pagan rites on the lake. Silence and mystery! there you 
have Nemi. Will you believe that when I was there the 
wish came to me to be a hermit, and it has not left me to 
this moment ? I would build a cell on the bank of the lake 
for myself, and wear a robe long and gray, like the habit 
of Saint Francis of Assisi, and go barefoot. What would I 
give to be a hermit! I see myself at the lake —” 

“ Anetka,) but what would become of me?” inquired 
Osnovski, half in jest, half in earnest. 

“Oh, thou wouldst console thyself,” said she, curtly. 

“Thou wouldst be a hermitess,” thought Pan Stanislav, 
“if on the other side of the lake there were a couple of 
dozen dandies gazing through glasses to see what the 
hermitess was doing, and how she looked.” 

He was too well-bred to tell her this directly ; but he told 
her something similar, and which could be understood. 

“ Naturally,” said she, laughing; “I should live by alms, 
and should have to see people sometimes; if you came to 
Nemi, I should come to you too and repeat in a very low 
voice, ‘Un soldo! un soldo!’” 

Saying this, she stretched her small hands to him, 
and shook them, repeating humbly, — 

“Un soldo per la povera! un soldo!” 

And she looked into his eyes. 

Pan Osnoyvski spoke meanwhile to Marynia. 

“This is called Three Fountains,” said he, “ for there are 
three springs here. Saint Paul’s head was cut off at this 
place; and there is a tradition that the head jumped three 
times, and that on those places springs burst forth. The 
place belongs now to the Trappists. Formerly people 
could not pass a night here, there was such fever; now there 
is less, for they have planted a whole forest of eucalyptuses 
on the hills. Oh, we can see it already.” 

But Pani Osnovski, bending back somewhat, half closed 
her eyes for a moment, and said to Pan Stauislav, — 

“This Roman air intoxicates me. I am as if beside 
myself. At home I cannot force from life more than it 
gives me; but here I am demoralized, I feel that something 
is wanting to me. Do I know what? Here one feels 
something, divines something, yearns for something. 
Maybe that is bad. Maybe it is not right for me to say 
this. But I say always what passes through my. mind. 

1 A diminutive of Aneta. 


« Oma," a 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 317 


At home, when a child, they called me Little Sincerity. 
I shall beg my husband to take me hence. It may be better 
to live in my own narrow shell, like a nut, or a snail.” 

“It may be pleasant in shells for nuts or snails,’ an- 
swered Pan Stanislav, with gravity, “but not for birds, 
and besides birds of paradise, of which there is a tradition 
that they have no legs and can never rest, but must fly and 
fly.” 

“What a beautiful tradition!” exclaimed Pani Osnovski. 
And, raising her hands, she began to move them, imitating 
the motion of wings, and repeating, — 

“This way, forever through the air.” 

The comparison flattered her, though she was astonished 
that Pan Stanislav had uttered it with a serious voice, but 
with an inattentive and, as it were, ironical face. He began 
to interest her, for he seemed very intelligent, and more 
difficult to master than she had expected. 

Meanwhile they arrived at Three Fountains. They visited 
the garden, the church, and the chapel, in the basement of 
which three springs were flowing. Pan Osnovski explained, 
in his kind, somewhat monotonous voice, what he had read 
previously. Marynia listened with interest; but Pan Stan- 
islav thought, — 

“Still to live three hundred and sixty-five days in a 
year with him, must be a little tiresome.” 

That justified Pani Osnovski in his eyes for the moment ; 
she, taking upon herself now the new role of bird of 
paradise, did not rest for a moment, not merely on the 
ground, but on any subject. First she drank eucalyptus 
liquor, which the cloister prepared as a means against fever; 
then she declared decisively that if she were a man she 
would be a Trappist. Later, however, she remembered that 
her sailing career would be agreeable “ever between sea and 
sky, as if living in endlessness;” at last the wish to become 
a great, a very great writer, gained the day against every- 
thing else, —awriter describing the minutest movements 
of the soul, half-conscious feelings, desires incompletely de- 
fined, all forms, all colors, all shades. The party learned 
also, as a secret, that she was writing her memoirs, which 
“that honest Yozio” considers a masterpiece ; but she knows 
that that is nothing, she has not the least pretensions, and 
she ridicules Yozio and the memoirs, 

“Yozio” looks at her with loving eyes, and with great 
affection on his pimpled face, and says with a protest, — 


318 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“ As to the memoirs, I beg pardon greatly.” 

They drove away about sundown. There were long shad- 
ows from the trees; the sun was large and red. The 
distant aqueducts and the Alban hills were gleaming in rose- 
color. ‘They were halfway when the “Angelus” was 
sounded in the tower of St. Paul’s, and immediately after 
were heard a second, a third, a tenth. Each church gave 
the signal to the succeeding one; and such a mighty chorus 
was formed as if the whole air were ringing, as if the 
“Angelus ” had been sounded not merely by the city, but the 
whole region, the plains, and the mountains. 

Pan Stanislav looked on Marynia’s face, lighted by the 
golden gleams. There was great calm in it and attention. 
It was evident that she was repeating the “Angelus” now, 
as she had repeated it in Kremen, when it was sounded in 
Vantory. Alwaysand everywhere the same. Pan Stanislav 
remembered again the “service of God.” It seemed to him 
more simple and pacifying than ever. But now, while ap- 
proaching the city, he understood the permanence, the 
vitality, the immensity, of those beliefs. “All this,” thought 
he, “has endured thus for a thousand and a half of years; 
and the strength and certainty of this city is only in those 
towers, those bells, that permanence of the cross, which en- 
dures and endures.” Again Svirski’s words came to him: 
“Here a ruin, on the Palatine a ruin, in the Forum a ruin, but 
over the city crosses, crosses, crosses and crosses.” It seemed 
to him beyond a doubt that in that very permanence there is 
something superhuman. Meanwhile the bells sounded, and 
the heavens above the city were covered with twilight. 
Under the impression produced by the praying Marynia, 
and the bells, and that vesper feeling, which seemed to 
hover over the city and the whole land, the following thought 
began to take form in Pan Stanislav, who had much mental 
directness: “What an idiot and vain fool should I be, in 
view of the needs of faith and that feeling of God, were I 
to seek some special forms of love and reverence of my own, 
instead of accepting those which Marynia calls ‘service of 
God,’ and which still must be the best, since the world has 
lived nearly two thousand years in them!” Then the reason- 
ing side of this thought struck him as a practical man, and 
he continued to himself, almost joyously: “On one side the 
traditions of a thousand years, the life of God knows how 
many generations and how many societies, for which there 
was and is delight in those forms, the authority for. God 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 319 


knows how many persons who consider them as the only 
forms; on the other side, who? I, a partner in the com- 
mission house of Bigiel and Polanyetski; and I had the 
pretension to think out something better into which the 
Lord God would fit Himself more conveniently. For this it 
is needful at least to be a fool! I, besides, am a man sincere 
with myself; and I could not endure it if from time to time 
the thought came to me, —I ama fool. But my mother be- 
lieved in this, and my wife believes; and I have never 
seen greater peace in any one than in them.” 

Here he looked at Marynia once and a second time; she 
had finished evidently her “ Angelus,” for she smiled at him 
in answer, and inquired, — 

“Why so silent ?” 

“We are all silent,” he answered. 

And so it was, but for various reasons. While Pan 
Stanislav was occupied with his thoughts, Pani Osnovski 
attacked him a number of times with her eyes and her words. 
He answered her words with something disconnected, and 
did not notice her glances in any way. He simply offended 
her: she might have forgiven him, she might have been 
pleased even, if to her statement that she wished to be a nun, 
he had answered with impudence concealed in polished 
words; but he wounded her mortally when he ceased to 
notice her, and in punishment she ceased also to notice him. 

But as a person of good breeding she became all the 
politer to Marynia. She inquired touching her plans on the 
following day; and, learning that they were to be at the 
Vatican, she announced that she and her husband had 
tickets of admission, and would use the opportunity 
also. 

“You know the dress?” inquired she. “A black robe, 
and black lace on the head. One looks a little old in them, 
but no matter.” 

“T know; Pan Svirski forewarned me,” answered Marynia. 

“Pan Svirski always talks of you to me when I am sit- 
ting to him. He has great regard for you.” 

“ And I for him.” 

During this conversation they arrived at the hotel. Pan 
Stanislav received such a slight and cool pressure of the 
hand from the fair lady that, though his head was occupied 
with something else, he noticed it. 

“Ts that a new method,” thought he, “or have I said 
something that displeased her ?” 





320 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“ What dost thou think of Pani Osnovski?” asked he of 
Marynia in the evening. " 

“1 think that Pan Svirski may be right in some meas- 
ure.” 

And Pan Stanislav answered: “She is writing at this 
moment ‘memoirs,’ which ‘ Yozio’ considers a master- 
piece.” i 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 821 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


Next morning when Marynia came out to her husband he 
hardly knew her. Dressed in black, and with a black lace 
veil on her head, she seemed taller, more slender, darker, 
and older. But he was pleased by a certain solemnity in 
her which recalled the ceremony of their marriage. Half 
an hour later they started. On the road Marynia con- 
fessed to fear, and a beating of the heart. He pacified her 
playfully, though he, too, was moved somewhat; and when, 
after a short drive, they entered the gigantic half-circle 
in front of St. Peter’s, he felt also that his pulse was not 
beating as every day, and, besides, he had a strange feeling 
of being smaller than usual. Near the steps, where stood 
a number of Swiss guards, arrayed in the splendid uniform 
invented by Michael Angelo, they found Svirski, who 
led them up with a throng of people, mostly Belgians. 
Marynia, who was somewhat dazed, did not know herself 
when she entered a very spacious hall, in which the throng 
was still denser, excepting on a space in the centre, where 
the Swiss guards were posted in lines, and kept a broad 
passage open. The crowd, among which the French and 
Flemish languages were to be heard, whispered in low 
voices, and turned their heads and eyes toward a passage, 
in which, from time to time, appeared, through the adjoin- 
ing hal), forms in remarkable costumes, which reminded 
Pan Stanislav of galleries in Antwerp or Brussels. It 
seemed to him that the Middle Ages were rising from the 
dead: now it was some knight of those ages, in a helmet, 
different indeed from helmets on the ancient portraits, but 
with steel on his breast; now a herald in a short red 
dalmatica, and with a red cap on his head; at times 

through the open door appeared purple cardinals, or violet 
bishops, ostrich feathers, lace on black velvet, and heads 
immensely venerable, white hair and faces, as if from a 
sarcophagus. But it was evident that the glances of the 
throng were falling on those peculiar dresses and colors 
and faces, as if, in passing, that their eyes were waiting 
for something beyond, something higher, some other heart; 
it was clear that in people’s minds attention was fixed as 

21 


322 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 





























was feeling in their souls, in waiting for a moment which 
comes once in a lifetime, and is memorable ever after, 
Pan Stanislav, holding Marynia by the hand, so as not to 
lose her in the throng, felt that hand tremble from emotion; 
as to him, in the midst of those silent crowds and beating 
hearts, before that historical dignity of former ages rising 
from the dead, as it were, in the midst of that attention 
and expectation, he felt a second time the wonderful im- 
pression of becoming smaller and smaller, till he was the 
smallest that. he had ever been in life. 

At that moment a low and rather panting voice whispered 
near them,— 

*T have been looking for you, and found you with diffi- 
culty. The ceremony will begin at once, it seems.” 

But it was not to begin at once. The monsignor acquaint- 
ance greeted Svirski meanwhile, and, speaking a few words 
to him, conducted the whole party politely to the adjoining 
hall, which was fitted in crimson damask. Pan Stanislav 
saw with astonishment that this hall, too, was full of 
people, with the exception of one end, which was reserved 
by a guard of honor, and in which was an armchair on an 
elevation, and before it a number of prelates and bishops 
conversing confidentially. Here expectation and attention 
were more expressly visible. It was evident that people 
were holding their breath; and all faces had a solemn, 
mysterious expression. The azure clearness of the day, 
mingled with the purple reflections of the tapestry, filled 
that hall with a kind of unusual light, in which the rays 
of the sun, breaking in here and there through the window- 
panes, appeared very ruddy and of a deeper red. 

They waited some time yet; at last, in the first halla 
murmur was heard, then a muttering, then a shout, and, 
finally, in the open side door appeared a white figure, 
borne by the noble guard. Marynia’s hand pressed P 
Stanislav’s nervously; he returned the pressure; and swift 
impressions, merged in one general feeling of the excep- 
tional and solemn import of the moment, flashed throug 
their minds, as during the ceremony of their marriage. 

One of the cardinals began to speak, but Pan Stanisla’ 
neither heard nor understood what he said. His eyes, hi 
thoughts, his whole soul, were with the figure clothed in 
white. Nothing in it escaped his attention, —its um 
paralleled emaciation, its frailness, its thinness, and i 
face as pale, and at the same time as transparent, as fa 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 823 


of the dead are. There was in it something which had no 
physical strength, or in every case it seemed to him simply 
half body, half apparition, —as it were, a light shining 
through alabaster; a spirit, fixed in some transparent mat- 
ter; an intermediate link between two worlds ; a link human 
yet, though already preterhuman, earthly so far, but also 
above earthly things. And through a marvellous antithesis 
the matter in it seemed to be something apparitional, and 
the spirit something material. 

Afterward, when people began to approach it for a bless- 
ing; when Pan Stanislav saw his Marynia at its feet; when 
he felt that to those knees, already half empyrean, one 
might still incline as to those of a father, —an emotion 
surpassing everything seized him; his eyes were as if mist- 
eovered; never in life had he felt himself such a small 
grain of sand, but at the same time he felt himself a grain 
of sand in which the grateful heart of a little child was 
throbbing. 

After they had gone out, all were silent. Marynia had 
eyes as if roused from sleep; Vaskovski’s hands were 
trembling. Bukatski dragged himself in to lunch; but, 
being ill, he could not excite conversation in any one. 
Svirski, strange to say, talked little while Marynia was 
sitting, and returned continually to the same subject; from 
time to time he repeated, — 

“Yes, yes; whoever has not seen that can have no con- 
ception of it. That will remain.” 

In the evening Pan Stanislav and Marynia went to see 
the sunset from Trinita dei Monti. The day ended very 
beautifully. The whole city was buried in a kind of hazy 
golden gleam; under their feet, far down in the valley, on 
the Piazza di Spagna, darkness was beginning, but a dark- 
ness yet lighted, in the mild tones of which irises and 
white lilies were visible among the flowers set out on both 
sides of the Via Condotti. In the whole picture there 
was great and undisturbed repose, —a kind of soothing 
announcement of night and sleep. Then the Piazza di 
Spagna began to sink more and more in the shade, but the 
Trinita was shining continually in purple. 

Pan Stanislav and Marynia felt this calmness reflected 
in themselves; they descended the giant stairs then with a 
wonderful feeling of peace in their souls. All the impres- 
sions of the day settled down in them in lines as great and 
oo as those twilight belts, which were still shining above 
them. 


324 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 







“Knowest thou,” said Pan Stanislav, “what I remember 
yet from childhood’s years? That with us at home they 
always said the evening rosary together.” And he looked — 
with an inquiring glance into Marynia’s eyes. - 

“Oh, my Stas!” said she, with a voice trembling from 
emotion, “I did not dare to mention this — my best.” 

*¢ Service of God,’ — dost thou remember? ” 

But she had said that formerly with such simplicity, and 
as a thing so self-evident, that she remembered nothing 
whatever about it. 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 825 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


Bur Pan Stanislav was in permanent disfavor with Pani 
Osnovski. Meeting him at Svirski’s, between one sitting 
and another, she spoke to him only in so far as good breed- 
ing and politeness demanded. He saw this perfectly, and 
asked himself sometimes, “ What does that woman want 
of me?” but troubled himself little. He would have 
troubled himself still less if “that woman,” instead of 
being eight and twenty, had been eight and fifty years of 
age; if she had been without those violet eyes and those 
cherry lips. And such is human nature that, in spite of 
the fact that he wanted nothing of her, and expected noth- 
ing, he could not refrain from thinking what might happen 
should he strive really for her favor, and how far would 
she be capable of going. 

They had another trip of four to the catacombs of 
St. Calixtus, for Pan Stanislav wished to repay politeness 
with politeness, — that is, a carriage with a carriage. But 
this trip did not bring reconciliation; they only conversed 
so far as not to call attention to themselves. At last this 
began to anger Pan Stanislav. In fact, Pani Osnovski’s 
bearing developed a special relation between them, un- 
pleasant in a way, but known only to them, hence some- 
thing between them exclusively, —a kind of secret, to 
which no one else was admitted. Pan Stanislav considered 
that all this would end with the work on her portrait; but 
though the face had been finished some time, there remained 
many little details, for which the presence of the charm- 
ing model was indispensable. Even for the simple reason 
that Svirski did not wish to lose time, it happened that 
when Pan Stanislav and his wife came, the Osnovskis were 
in the studio. Sometimes they stopped a little for greeting 
anda short talk touching yesterday’s impressions; some- 
times Osnovski was sent by his wife on an errand, or for 
some news. In that event he went out first, leaving the 
carriage for her before the studio. 

And it happened once that when Marynia had taken her 
place for a sitting, Pani Osnovski had not gone yet; after 
a while, learning that Marynia had been at the theatre the 


326 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


evening before, she, while putting on her hat and gloves 
before the mirror, inquired about singers and the opera, 
then, turning to Pan Stanislav, she said, — 

“And now, I pray you, conduct me to the carriage.” 

She threw on her wrap, and began to look for the ribbons 
sewn behind to the lining, so as to fasten it around her 
waist, but she stopped suddenly at the entrance, — 

“I cannot find the ribbons because I have my gloves on; 

take pity on me.” 

Pan Stanislav had to look for the ribbons, but in doing 
so he was forced to put his arm almost around her; after a 
moment the brewing of desire poured about him, all the 
more since she bent toward him, and the warmth of her 
face and body struck him. 

“But w hy are you angry with me?” ina dined she, in an 
undertone; “that is bad. I am in such need of friendly 
souls. What have I done to you?” 

He found the ribbons, recovered himself, and with that 
somewhat coarse satisfaction of a rude man, who desires 
to use his triumph, and to signify that he has not yielded, 
answered simply, with an impertinence, — 

“You have done nothing to me, and you can do nothing.” 

But she repulsed the impoliteness, as if it were a ball at 
tennis. 

“Because sometimes I notice persons so little that I 
nardly see them.” 

They went in silence to the carriage. 

“But is it that way?” thought Pan Stanislav, returning 
to the studio; “a man might advance there as far as he 
pleased; ” and a quiver passed through him. “As far as 
he pleased,” repeated he. 

Herewith he was not conscious that he had made such a 
mistake as is made daily by dozens of men who are lovers 
of hunting in other men’s grounds. Pani Osnovski was a 
coquette: she had a dry heart, and her thought was dis- 
honorable already; but she was hundreds of miles yet from 
complete physical fall. 

Meanwhile Pan Stanislav returned to the studio feeling 
that he had made an immense sacrifice for Marynia, and 
with a certain regret in his heart, first, because she would 
not know what had happened, and second, if she should 
know, she would consider his action as perfectly simple. 
This feeling angered him; and when he looked at her, at 
her clear eyes, her calm face, and her fair, honest beauty, 








. 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 327 


a comparison of those two women urged itself into his 
mind in spite of him, and in his soul he said, — 

“Ah, Marynia! such as she would rather sink through 
the earth; of her it is possible to be certain.” 

And — singular thing —there was in this an undoubted - 
recognition, but there was also a shade of regret, and, as 
it were, of irritation, that that was a woman so greatly his 
own that he did not feel bound to a continual admiration 
of her worthiness. 

And for the rest of the sitting he turned his thought to 
?ani Osnovski. He supposed that in future she would 
simply cease to give her hand to him, and it turned out 
that he was mistaken again. On the contrary, wishing to 
show that she attached no importance to him or to his 
words, she was more polite to him than hitherto. Pan 
Osnovski, however, had an offended look, and became more 
and more icy every day toward him. ‘This was caused, 
undoubtedly, by conversations with “ Anetka.” 

A few days later, however, impressions of another sort 
effaced that adventure from Pan Stanislav’s mind. Bukatski 
had long been ill; he complained more and more of a pain 
in the back of his head, and a strange feeling of separating 
from his own muscles. His humor revived still at moments, 
put it shot up and went out like fireworks. He came to 
the table d’héte more rarely. At last Pan Stanislav re- 
ceived his card one morning; on it these words were written 
with a very uncertain hand, — 


My Dear, — After to-night it seems that I am about to get on 
horseback. If thou wish to see my departure, come, especially in 
lack of anything better to do. 


Pan Stanislav hid the card from Marynia, but went 
straightway. He found Bukatski in bed, and a doctor 
with him, whom Bukatski sent away that moment. 

**Thou hast frightened me terribly,” said Pan Stanislav. 
“What ails thee?” 

“Nothing great, —a little paralysis of the lower part of 
the body.” 

“Have the fear of God!” 

“Thou speakest wisely, if there were time for it; but 
now I have no power in my left arm, in my left leg, and 
I ecannot rise. Thus did I wake this morning. I thonght 
that I had lost speech, too, and began to declaim to myself, 


328 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


‘Per me si va;’ but, as thou seest, I have not lost speech. 
My tongue remained, and now I am trying to find calmness 
of thought.” 

“But art thou sure that it is paralysis? It may be a 
temporary numbness.” 

“What is life? — Ah, only a moment,” Bukatski began 
to declaim; “I cannot move, and that is the end, or, if ¥ 
thou prefer, the beginning.” 

“That would be a terrible thing, but I do not believe it; 
any one may be benumbed for a time.” 

“There are moments in life which are somewhat bitter, 
as the carp said when the cook was scraping his scales off 
with a knife. I confess that at first terror took hold of 
me. Hast thou ever felt the hair rising on thy head? It 
is not to be reckoned altogether among feelings of delight. 
But I have recovered my balance, and now, at the end of 
three hours, it seems to me that I have lived ten years 
with my paralysis. It is a question of habit! as the 
mushroom said when in the frying-pan. I am chatting 
much, for I haven’t much time. Dost thou know, my 
dear friend, that I shall die in a couple of days?” 

“Indeed, thou art chatting! Paralyzed people live thirty 
years.” 

“Even forty,” answered Bukatski. “ Paralysis in that 
case is a luxury which some may permit themselves, but 
not men like me. For a strong man, who has a good neck, 
good shoulders, good breast, and proper legs, it may be 
even a species of rest, a kind of vacation after a frolie- 
some youth, and an opportunity for meditation; but for me! 
Dost remember how thou wert laughing at my legs? Well, 
I tell thee that they were elephantine at that time if com- 
pared with what they are to-day. It is not true that every 
man is aclod; I am only a line, —I am not joking, —and, 
moreover, a line vanishing in infinity.” 

Pan Stanislav began to shrug his shoulders, to contra- 
dict, and to quote known examples; but Bukatski resisted. 

“Stop! I feel and know that in a couple of days 
paralysis of the brain will set in. I have been expecting 
this a whole year, but told no one, and for a year have 
been reading books on medicine. A second attack will 
come, and that will be final.” 

Here he was silent, but after a time continued, — 

“And, believe me, I do not like this. Think of it: I 
am as much alone as a finger cut off from its hand; I have 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 829 


no one. Here, and even in Warsaw, only people who are 
paid would take care of me. Life is terribly wretched 
when a man is without power of movement, and without a 
living soul who is related. When I lose speech, as I have 
lost power of motion, any woman in attendance, or any man, 
may strike me on the face as much as she or he pleases. 
But thou must know one thing. I feared paralysis at the 
first moment; but in my weak body there is a brave spirit. 
Remember what I said to thee, —that I fear not death; 
and I do not fear it.” 

Here there gleamed in Bukatski’s eyes a certain pale re- 
flection of daring and energy, hidden somewhere in the 
bottom of that disjointed and softened soul. 

But Pan Stanislav, who had a good heart, put his hand 
on the palm already paralyzed, and said, with great 
feeling, — 

“My Adzia! But do not suppose that we will leave thee 
thus, desert thee as thou art; and do not say that thou hast 
no one. ‘Thou hast me, and besides me, my wife, and 
Svirski, Vaskovski, and the Bigiels. For us thou art not 
astranger. I will take thee to Warsaw, I will put thee in 
the hospital, and we will care for thee, and no attendant 
will strike thee on the face, —first, because I should break 
the bones of such a person; secondly, we have Sisters of 
Charity, and among them is Pani Emilia.” 

Bukatski was silent, and grew pale a little; he was more 
moved than he wished to show. A shadow passed over 
his eyes. 

“Thou art a good fellow,” said he, after a prolonged 
silence. “Thou knowest not what a miracle thou hast 
worked. for thou hast brought it about that I wish some- 
thing yet. Yes; I should like wonderfully to go to 
Warsaw, to be among you all. I should be immensely 
pleased there.” 

“Here thou must go at once to some hospital, and be 
under constant care. Svirski must know where the best 
one is. Yield thyself to me, wilt thou? Let me arrange 
for thee.” 

“Do what may please thee,” answered Bukatski, whom 
consolation began to enter now, in view of the new plans 
and the energy of his friend. 

Pan Stanislav wrote to Svirski and to Vaskovski, and 
sent out messengers immediately. Half an hour later both 
appeared, Svirski with a famous local physician. Before 


330 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


mid-day Bukatski found himself in a hospital, in a well- 
lighted and cheerful chamber. 

‘**What a pleasant and warm tone!” said he, looking at 
the golden color, and the walls and ceiling. “This is 
nice.” Then, turning to Pan Stanislav, he said, “Come to 
me in the evening, but go now to thy wife.” 

Pan Stanislav took farewell of him, and went out. 
When he reached home he told Marynia the whole story 
cautiously, for he did not wish to frighten her with sudden 
news, giving the idea that he was in a dangerous condition. 
Marynia begged him to take her to Bukatski, if not in 
the evening, in the morning early, which he promised to 
do. They went immediately after lunch, for that day 
there was no sitting in the studio. 

But before they arrived, Vaskovski was there, and he 
did not leave Bukatski for a moment. When the patient 
had settled himself well in the new bed, the old man told 
him how once he had thought himself dying, but after eon- 
fession and receiving the sacraments, he grew better, as 
if by a miracle. 

“A well-known method, dear professor,” said Bukatski, 
with a smile; “I divine what thy object is.” 

The professor was as confused as if caught in some evil 
deed, and crossed his hands. 

‘*T will lay a wager that it would help thee,” said he. 

Bukatski answered with a gleam of his former humor, 
“Very well. Ina couple of days I shall convince myself, 
on the other side of the river, how much it will help me.” 

The arrival of Marynia pleased him, all the more that 
it was unexpected. He said that he had not thought to 
see any woman on this side of the river, and, moreover, one 
of his own. Therewith he began to scold them all a little, 
but with evident emotion. 

“What sentimentalists they are!” said he. “It is 
simply a judgment to be occupied with such a skeleton 
grandfather as I am. Ye will never have reason. What 
is this for? What good in it? See, even before death, I 
am forced to be grateful; and I am sincerely, very sincerely 
grateful.” 

But Marynia did not let him talk about death; on the 
contrary, she said with great firmness that he must go to 
Warsaw, and be among his friends. She spoke of this asa 
thing the execution of which was not subject to the least 
doubt, and she succeeded gradually in convincing Bukatski 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 331 


of it. She told him how to prepare, and at last he listened 
to her eagerly. His thoughts passed into a certain condi- 
tion of yielding, in which they let themselves be led. He 
felt like a child, and, besides, a poor child. 

That same day Osnovski visited him, and also showed 
as much interest and feeling as if he had been his own 
brother. Bukatski had out and out not expected all this, 
and had not counted on anything similar. ‘Therefore, 
when later in the evening Pan Stanislav came a second 
time, and no others were present, he said to him, — 

“T tell thee sincerely that never have I felt with such 
clearness that I made life a stupid farce, that I have 
wasted it like a dog.” And soon after he added, “ And if 
I had found a real pleasure in that method by which I 
_was living; but I had not even that satisfaction. How 
stupid is our epoch! A man makes two of himself; all 
that is best in him he hides away, shuts in somewhere in 
corners, and becomes a kind of ape. He rather persuades 
himself of the uselessness of life than feels it. How 
wonderful this is! One thing consoles me, — that in truth 
death is the only thing real in life, though, on the other 
hand, this again is not a reason why, before it comes, we 
should say of it as a fool says of wine, that it is vinegar.” 

“My dear friend,” answered Pan Stanislav, “thou hast 
always tortured thyself with this endless winding of thought 
around some bobbin. Do not do that at present.” 

“Thou art right. But I am unable not to think that 
while I was walking around and was well in a fashion, I 
jeered at life; and now —I tell thee as a secret —I want 
to live longer.” 

“Thou wilt live longer.” P 

**Give me peace. Thy wife was persuading me of that, 
but now again I do not believe it. And it is painful to 
me, —I have thrown myself away. But hear why I wanted 
to speak with thee. I know not whether any account is 
waiting for me; I say sincerely that I know not, but still 
I feel a kind of strange alarm, as if I were afraid. And I 
will tell thee something: during life I did nothing for my 
fellows, and I was able! I was able! In presence of this 
thought fear seizes me; I give thee my word! That is 
an unworthy thing. I did nothing; I ate bread without 
paying for it, and now—death. If there are any whips 
beyond, and if they are waiting for me, it is to punish that; 
and listen, Stas, it is painful to me.” 


332 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Here, although he spoke with the careless tone usual to 
him, his face expressed real dread, his lips grew pale some- 
what, and on his forehead drops of sweat appeared. 

‘But stop!” said Pan Stanislav; “see what comes to 
his head. Thou art injuring thyself.” 

But Bukatski spoke on: “ Listen! wait! I have property 
which is rather considerable; let even that do something 
for me. I will leave thee a part of it, and do thou use the 
remainder for something useful. Thou art practical, so is 
Bigiel. Think of something, thou and he, for I do not 
believe that I shall have time. Wilt thou do this?” 

“That, and thy every wish.” 

‘**] thank thee. How wonderful are fears and reproaches 
of this kind! And still I cannot escape a feeling of guilt. 
The conditions are such that I am not right! One should 
do something honorable even just before death. But it is — 
no joke, —death. If that were something visible, but it 
is so dark. And one must decay, corrupt, and rot in the 
dark. Art thou a believer?” 

Vas,” 

“But I, neither yes nor no. I amused myself with 
Nirvana, as with other things. Dost thou know, were it 
not for the feeling of guilt, I should be more at rest? I 
had no idea that this would pain me so; I have the im- 
pression that I am a bee which has robbed its hive, and 
that is a low thing. But at least my property will remain 
after me. This is true, is it not? I have spent a little, 
but very little, on pictures, which will remain, too; isn’t 
this true ? But now, howI should like to live longer, even 
a year, even long enough not to die here!” 

He meditated a while, and then said, — 

“T understand one thing now: life may be bad, for a man 
may order it foolishly ; but existence is good.” 

Pan Stanislav went away late in the night. Through 
the following week the health of the patient was wavering. 
The doctors were unable to foresee anything; they judged, 
however, that a journey was not dangerous in any case. 
Svirski and Vaskovski volunteered to go to Warsaw with 
the sick man, who was yearning for home more and more, 
and who mentioned Pani Emilia, the Sister of Charity, 
almost daily. But on the eve of the day on which he was 
to go, he lost speech suddenly. Pan Stanislav’s heart was 
bleeding when he looked at his eyes, in which at moments 
a terrible alarm was depicted, and at moments a kind of 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 333 


great, silent prayer. He tried to write, but could not. In 
the evening came paralysis of the brain, and he died. 

They buried him in the Campo Santo temporarily. Pan 
Stanislav thought that his looks uttered a prayer to be car- 
ried to his own country, and Svirski confirmed that thought. 

Thus vanished that bubble which gleamed sometimes with 
the colors of the rainbow, but was as empty and evanescent 
as any bubble. 

Pan Stanislav was sincerely afflicted by his death, and 
meditated afterward for whole hours on that strange life. 
He did not share these thoughts with Marynia, for somehow 
it had not become a custom with him yet to confide to her 
anything that took place in his mind. Finally, as hap- 
pens often with people who are thinking of the dead, he 
drew from these thoughts various conclusions to his own 
advantage. 

“ Bukatski,” said he to himself, “was never able to come 
to harmony with his own mind: he lacked the understand- 
ing of life; he could not fix his position in that forest, and 
he travelled always according to the fancy of the moment. 
But if he had felt contented with that system, if he had 
squeezed something out of life, 1 should own that he had 
sense. But it was unpleasant for him. It is really a foolish 
thing to persuade one’s self, before death comes, that wine 
is vinegar. But I look at matters more clearly, and, besides, 
Ihave been far more sincere with myself. Happen what 
may, I am almost perfectly in order with God and with 
life.” 

There was truth in this, but there was also illusion. Pan 
Stanislav was not in order with his own wife. He judged 
that if he gave her protection, bread, good treatment, and 
put kisses on her lips from time to time, he was discharging 
all possible duties assumed with regard to her. Meanwhile 
their relations began to be more definitely of this sort,— that 
he only deigned to love and receive love. In the course of 
his observations of life this strange phenomenon had struck 
him more than once, — that when, for example, a man well- 
known for honor does some noble deed, people wave their 
hands as if with a certain indifference, saying, “Oh, that 
is Pan X ; from him this is perfectly natural!” When, 
however, some rogue chanced to do something honorable, 
these same people said with great recognition, “But there 
is something in the man.” A hundred times Pan Stanislav 
observed that a copper from a miser made more impression 



















334 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


than a ducat from a generous giver. He did not notice, 
however, that with Marynia he followed the same method 
of judgment and recognition. She gave him all her being, 
all her soul. “Ah, Marynia! that is natural!” and he 
waved his hand too. Had her love not been so generous, had 
it come to him with supreme difficulty, with the conviction 
that it was a treasure, and given as such, with the con- 
viction that she was a divinity demanding a bowed head and 
honor, Pan Stanislav would have received it with a bowed 
head, and would have rendered the honor. Such is the 
general human heart; and only the choicest natures, woven 
from rays, have power to rise above this level. Marynia 
had given Pan Stanislav her love as his right. She con- 
sidered his love as happiness, and he gave it as happiness; 
he felt himself the idol on the altar. One ray of his fell on 
the heart of the woman and illumined it: the divinity 
kept the rest of the rays for itself; taking all, it gave only a 
part. In his love there was not that fear which flows from 
honor, and there was not that which in every fondling says 
to the woman beloved, “at thy feet.” 

But they did not understand this yet, either of them. 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 3385 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 


“T po not ask if thou art happy,” said Bigiel to Pan 
Stanislav after his return to Warsaw; “with such a person 
as thy wife it is not possible to be unhappy.” 

“True,” answered Pan Stanislav; “ Marynia is such an 
honest little woman that it would be hard to find a better.” 
Then, turning to Pani Bigiel, he said, — 

“We are both happy, and it cannot be otherwise. You 
remember, dear lady, our former conversations about love 
and marriage? You remember how I feared to meet a 
woman who would try to hide the world from her husband 
with herself, to occupy all his thoughts, all his feelings, to 
be the single object of his life? You remember how I 
proved to you and Pani Emilia that love for a woman could 
not and should not in any case be for a man everything; that 
beyond it there are other questions in the world?” 

“Yes; but [remember also how I told you that domestic 
oceupations do not hinder me in any way from loving my 
children; for I know in some fashion, as it seems to me, 
that these things are not like boxes, for example, of which, 
when you have put a certain number on a table, there is no 
room for others.” 

“My wife is right now,” said Bigiel. “I have noticed 
that people often deceive themselves when they transfer 
feelings or ideas into material conditions. When it is a 
question of feelings or ideas, space is not to be considered.” 

“Oh, stop! Thou art conquered to the country,” said 
Pan Stanislav, humorously. 

“But if the position is pleasant for me?” said Bigiel, 
promptly. “Moreover, thou, too, wilt be conquered.” 

“ 1 ? ? 

“Yes; with honesty, kindness, and heart.” 

“That is something different. It is possible to be con- 
quered, and not be a slipper. Do not hinder me in prais- 
ing Marynia; I have succeeded in a way that could not be 
improved, and specially for this reason, —that she is 
satisfied with the feeling which I have for her, and has no 
wish to be my exclusive idol. For this I love her. God 
has guarded me from a wife demanding devotion of the 


336 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


whole soul, whole mind, whole existence; and I thank 
Him sincerely, since I could not endure such a woman. I 
understand more easily that all may be given of free will, 
and when not demanded.” 

“Believe me, Pan Stanislav,” answered Pani Bigiel, 
“that in this regard we are all equally demanding; but at 
first we take frequently that part for the whole which they 
give us, and then —” 

“And then what?” interrupted Pan Stanislav, rather 
jokingly. 

“Then those who have real honesty in their hearts attain 
to something which for you is a word without meaning, 
but for us is often life’s basis.” 

“What kind of talisman is that?” 

** Resignation.” 

Pan Stanislav laughed, and added, “The late Bukatski 
used to say that women put on resignation frequently, as 
they do a hat, because it becomes them. A resignation 
hat, a veil of light melancholy, —are they ugly?” 

“No, not ugly. Say what you please; they may be a 
dress, but in such a dress it is easier to reach heaven than 
in another.” 

“Then my Marynia is condemned to hell, for she will 
never wear that dress, I think. But you will see her ina 
moment, for she promised to come here after office hours. 
She is late, the loiterer; she ought to be here now.” 

‘‘Her father is detaining her, I suppose. But you will 
stay to dine with us, will you not?” 

“We will stay to dine. Agreed.” 

“ And some one else has promised us to-day, so the soci- 
ety will only be increased. I will go now to tell them to 
prepare places for you.” 

Pani Bigiel went out; but Pan Stanislav asked Bigiel, — 

“Whom hast thou at dinner?” 

“ Zavilovski, the future letter-writer of our house.” 

“Who is he?” 

““That poet already famous.” 

‘“‘From Parnassus to the desk? How is that?” 

“JT do not remember, now, who said that society keeps its 
geniuses on diet. People say that this man is immensely 
capable, but he cannot earn bread with verses. Our 
Tsiskovski went to the insurance company; his place was — 
left vacant, and Zavilovski applied. I had some scruples, 
but he told me that for him this place was a question of 


” 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 337 


bread, and the chance of working. Besides, he pleased me, 
for he told me at once that he writes in three languages, 
but speaks well in none of them; and second, that he has 
not the least conception of mercantile correspondence.” 

“Oh, that is nonsense,” answered Pan Stanislav; “he 
will learn in a week. But will he keep the place long, 
and will not the correspondence be neglected? Business 
with a poet!” 

“Tf he is not right, we will part. But when he applied, 
I chose to give the place to him. In three days he is to 
begin. Meanwhile, I have advanced a month’s salary; he 
needed it.” 

“Was he destitute?” 

“Tt seems so. ‘There is an old Zavilovski, —that one 
who has a daughter, a very wealthy man. I asked our 
Zavilovski if that was a relative of his; he said not, but 
blushed, so I think that the old man is his relative. But 
how it is with us? A balance in nothing. Some deny 
relationship because they are poor; others, because they 
are rich. All through some fancy, and because of that 
rascally pride. But he’ll please thee; he pleased my 
wife.” 

“Who pleased thy wife?” asked Pani Bigiel, coming in. 

“ Zavilovski.” 

“For | read his beautiful verses entitled, ‘Onthe Thresh- 
old.’ At the same time he looks as if he were hiding 
something from people.” 

“He is hiding poverty, or rather, poverty was hiding 
him.” 

“No; he looks as if he had passed through some severe 
disappointment.” 

“Thou wert able to see in him a romance, and to tell me 
that he had suffered much. Thou wert offended when I 
put forth the hypothesis that it might be from worms in 
childhood, or scald-head. That was not poetical enough 
for her.” 

Pan Stanislav looked at his watch, and was a little 
impatient. 

“Marynia is not coming,” said he; ‘*what a loiterer! ” 

But the “ loiterer” came at that moment, or rather, drove 
up. The greeting was not effusive, for she had seen the 
Bigiels at the railway. Pan Stanislav toid his wife that 
they would stay to dine, to which she agreed willingly, 

22 


338 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 




























and fell to greeting the children, who rushed into the room 
in a swarm. 

Now came Zavilovski, whom Bigiel presented to Pan 
Stanislav and Marynia. He was aman still young, — about 
seven or eight and twenty. Pan Stanislav, looking at him, 
considered that in every case his mien was not that of a 
man who had suffered much; he was merely ill at ease in 
a society with which he was more than half unacquainted. 
He had a nervous face, and a chin projecting prominently, 
like Wagner’s, gladsome gray eyes, and a very delicate 
forehead, whiter than the rest of his face; on his forehead 
large veins formed the letter Y. He was, besides, rather 
tall and somewhat awkward. 

“T have heard,” said Pan Stanislav to him, ‘‘that in 
three days you will be our associate.” 

“Yes, Pan Principal,” answered the young man; “or 
rather, I shall serve in the office.” 

“But give peace to the ‘principal,’ ” said Pan Stanislay, 
laughing. “ With us it is not the custom to use the words 
‘grace,’ or ‘principal’ unless perchance such a title would 
please my wife by giving her importance in her own eyes. 
But listen, Pani Principaless,” said he, turning to Marynia, — 
“would it please thee to be called principaless? It would 
be a new amusement.” 

Zavilovski was confused; but he laughed too, when 
Marynia answered, — 

“No; for it seems to me that a principaless ought to 
wear an enormous cap like this” (here she showed with 
her hands how big), “and I cannot endure caps.” 

It grew pleasanter for Zavilovski in the joyous kindness 
of those people; but he was confused again when Marynia 
said, — 

“You are an old acquaintance of mine. I have read noth- 
ing of late, for we have just returned home; has anything 
appeared while we were gone?” 

‘No, Pani,” answered he; “I occupy myself with that 
as Pan Bigiel does with music, —in free moments, and for 
my own amusement.” 

“T do not believe this,” said Marynia. 

And she was right not to believe, for it was not true at 
all. Zavilovksi’s reply was lacking also in candor, for he 
wished to let it be known that he desired beyond all to 
pass as the correspondent of a commercial house, and to 
considered an employee, not a poet. He gave a title to 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 839 


Bigiel and Pan Stanislav, not through any feeling of 
inferiority, but to show that when he had undertaken office- 
work he considered it as good as any other, that he accom- 
modated himself to his position, and would do so in the 
future. There was in this also something else. Zavilovski, 
though young, had observed how ridiculous people are, 
who, when they have written one or two little poems, pose 
as seers, and insist on being considered such. His great 
self-esteem trembled before the fear of the ridiculous; 
hence he fell into the opposite extreme, and was almost 
ashamed of his poetry. Recently, when suffering great 
want, this feeling became almost a deformity, and the least 
reference by any one to the fact that he was a poet brought 
him to suppressed anger. 

But meanwhile he felt that he was illogical, since for 
him the simplest thing would have been not to write and 
publish poems; but he could not refrain. His head was 
not surrounded with an aureole yet, but a few gleams had 
touched it; these illuminated his forehead at one moment, 
and then died, in proportion as he created, or neglected. 
After each new poem the gleam began again to quiver; and 
Zavilovski, as capable as he was ambitious, valued in his 
heart those reflecttons of glory more than aught else on 
earth. But he wanted people to talk of him only among 
themselves, and not to his eyes. When he felt that they 
were beginning to forget him, he suffered secretly. There 
was in him, as it were, a dualism of self-love, which 
wanted glory, and at the same time rejected it through a 
certain shyness and pride, lest some one might say that too 
much had been given. And many contradictions besides 
inhered in him, as a man young and impressionable, who 
takes in and feels exceptionally, and who, amidst his feel- 
ings, is not able frequently to distinguish his own personal 
I. For this reason it is that artists in general seem often 
unnatural. 

Now came dinner, during which conversation turned on 
Italy, and people whom the Polanyetskis had met there. 
Pan Stanislav spoke of Bukatski and his last moments, 
and also of the dead man’s will, by which he became the 
heir to a fairly large sum of money. By far the greater 
part was to be used for public objects, and touching this 
he had to confer with Bigiel. They loved Bukatski, and 
remembered him with sympathy. Pani Bigiel had even 
tears in her eyes when Marynia stated that before death 


340 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


he had confessed; and that he died like a Christian. But 
this sympathy was of the kind that one might eat dinner 
with; and if Bukatski had, in truth, sighed sometimes for 
Nirvana, he had what he wanted at present, since he had 
become for people, even those near him, and who loved 
him, a memory as slight as it was unenduring. A week 
longer, a month, or a year, and his name would be a sound 
without an echo. He had not earned, in fact, the deep 
love of any one, and had not received it; his life flowed 
away from him in such fashion that after even a child 
like Litka, there remained not only a hundred times more 
sorrow, but also love and memorable traces. His life roused 
at first the curiosity of Zavilovski, who had not known 
him; but when he had heard all that Pan Stanislav narrated, 
he said, after thinking a while, ‘An additional copy.” 
Bukatski, who joked at everything, would have been pained 
by such an epitaph. 

Marynia, wishing to give a more cheerful turn to con- 
versation, began to tell of the excursions they had made in 
Rome and the environs, either alone, with Svirski, or the 
Osnovskis. Bigiel, who was a classmate of Osnovski, and 
who from time to time saw him yet, said, — 

“He has one love,—his wife; and one hatred,—his 
corpulence, or rather, his inclination to it. As to other 
things, he is the best man on earth.” 

“But he seems quite slender,” said Marynia. 

“Two years ago he was almost fat; but since he began 
to use a bicycle, “fence, follow the Banting system, drink 
Karlsbad in summer, and go in winter to. Italy or Egypt 
to perspire, he has made himself slender again. But 
have not said truly that he has a hatred for corpulence; it 
is his wife who has, and he does this through regard for 
her. He dances whole nights, too, at balls, - for the same 
reason.” 

“He is a sclavus saltans,” said Pan Stanislav. “Svirski 
has told us of this already.” 

gt understand that it is possible to love a wife,” said 
Bigiel; “it is possible to consider her, according to the 

saying, as the apple of the eye. Very well! But, as I 
love God, I have heard that he writes verses to his wife; 
that he opens books with his eyes closed, marks a verse 


with his finger, and divines to himself from what he reads — 


whether he is loved. If it comes out badly, he falls into 


melancholy. He is in love like a student, — counts all her — 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 3841 


glances, strives to divine what this or that word is to 
mean, kisses not only her feet and hands, but when he 
thinks that no one is looking, he kisses her gloves. God 
knows what it is like! and that for whole years.” 

“How much in love!” said Marynia. 

“Would it be to thy liking were I such?” asked Pan 
Stanislav. 

She thought a while, and answered, “No; for in that 
case thou wouldst be another man.” 

“Oh, that is a Machiavelli,” said Bigiel. “It would be 
worth while to write down such an answer, for that is at 
once a praise, and somewhat of a criticism, — a testimony 
that as it is, is best, and that it would be possible to wish 
for something still better. Manage this for thyself, man.” 

“T take it for praise,” said Pan Stanislav, “though you” 
(here he turned to Pani Bigiel), “ will say surely that it is 
resignation.” 

‘The outside is love,” answered Pani Bigiel, laughing 
“resignation may come in time, as lining, if cold comes.” 

Zavilovski looked on Marynia with curiosity; she seemed 
to him comely, sympathetic, and her answer arrested his 
attention. He thought, however, that only a woman could 
speak so who was greatly in love, and one for whom there 
was never enough of feeling. He began to look at Pan 
Stanislav with a certain jealousy; and because he was a 
great hermit, the words of the song came at once to his 
head, “ My neighbor has a darling wife.” 

Meanwhile, since he had been silent a whole hour, or 
had spoken a couple of words merely, it seemed to him 
that he ought to engage in the conversation somehow. But 
timidity restrained him, and, besides, a toothache, which, 
when the sharpest pain had passed, was felt yet at moments 
acutely enough. This pain had taken all his courage; but 
he rallied finally, and asked, — 

“But Pani Osnovski? ” 

“Pani Osnovski,” said Pan Stanislav, “has a husband 
who loves for two; therefore she has no need to fatigue 
herself, so Svirski, at least, insists. She has Chinese eyes; 
she is Aneta by name; has filling in herupper teeth, which 
is visible when she laughs much, therefore she prefers to 
_ smile; in general, she is like a turtle-dove, —she turns in 
a circle, and cries, ‘Sugar! sugar!’ ” 

“That is a malicious man,” said Marynia. “She is 
beautiful, lively, witty; and Pan Svirski cannot know 


342 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


how much she loves her husband, for surely he has n’t 
mentioned the matter to her. All these are simply 
suppositions.” 

Pan Stanislav thought two things: first, that they were 
not suppositions; and second, that he had a wife who was 
as naive as she was honest. 

But Zavilovski said, — 

“T am curious to know what would happen were she as 
much in love with him as he is with her.” 

“Tt would be the greatest double egotism that the world 
has ever witnessed,” said Pan Stanislav. “They would be 
so occupied with each other that they would see no other 
thing or person on earth.” 

Zavilovski smiled, and said, “Light does not prevent 
heat; it produces it.” 

“Taking matters strictly, that is rather a poetical than a 
physical comparison,” said Pan Stanislav. j 
But Zavilovski’s answer pleased the two ladies, so both 
supported him ardently ; and when Bigiel joined them, Pan 
Stanislav was outvoted. ‘ 

After that they talked of Mashko and his wife.  Bigiel 
said that Mashko had taken up an immense case against 
Panna PJoshovski’s million-ruble will, in which a number 
of rather distant heirs appeared. Pan Plavitski had written 
of this to Marynia while she was in Italy ; but, considering 
the whole affair such an illusion as were aforetime the mil | 
lions resting on the marl of Kremen, she barely mentioned 
it to her husband, who waved his hand on the whole question 
at once. Now, as Mashko had taken up the affair, it seemed 
more important. Bigiel supposed that there must be some 
informality in the will, and declared that if Mashko won, 
he might stand on his feet right away, for he had stipulated 
an immense fee for himself. The whole affair roused Pan 
Stanislav’s curiosity greatly. 

“But Mashko has the elasticity of a cat,” said he; “he — 
always falls on his feet.” 

«And this time thou shouldst pray that he may not break 
his back,” answered Bigiel; “for it is a question of no 
small amount, both for thee and thy father-in-law. Ploshov 
alone with all its farms is valued at seven hundred thousand — 
rubles ; and, besides, there is much ready money.” 7 

“That would be wonderful, such unexpected gain!” said 
Pan Stanislav. 

But Marynia heard with pain that her father had indeed 


+ rm i eli items lassi 
=——_ ee eo 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 843 


appeared among the other heirs in the suit against the will. 
“Stas” was for her a rich man, and she had blind faith that 
he could make millions if he wished; her father had an in- 
come, and, besides, she had given him the life annuity from 
Magyerovka; hence poverty threatened no one. It would 
have been pleasant indeed for her to be able to buy Kremen, 
and take “Stas” there in summer, but not for money got in 
this way. 

“T am only pained by this,” said she, with great anima- 
tion. “That money was bequeathed so honestly. It is not 
right to change the will of the dead; it is not right to take 
bread from the poor, or schools. Panna Ploshovski’s 
brother’s son shot himself; it may have been for hera 
question of saving his soul, of gaining God’s mercy. ‘This 
breaking of the will is not right. People should think and 
feel differently.” 

She grew even flushed somewhat. 

* How determined she is!” said Pan Stanislav. 

But she pushed forward her somewhat too wide mouth, and 
ealled out with the expression of a pouting child, — 

* But say that Lam right, Stas; say that 1 am mght. ’T is 
thy duty to say so.” 

* Without doubt,” answered Pan Stanislav; “but Mashko 
may win the case.” 

*T wish him to lose it.” 

* How determined she is! ” repeated Pan Stanislav. 

“And how honest, what a noble nature!” thought Zavi- 
lovski, framing in his plastic mind conceptions of goodness 
and nobility in the form of a woman with dark hair, blue 
eyes, « lithe form, and mouth a trifle too wide. 

After dinner Bigiel and Pan Stanislav went for a cigar 
and black coffee to the office, where they had to hold 
meanwhile the first consultation concerning the objects for 
which Bukatski’s property had been bequeathed. Zavi- 
lovski, as a non-smoker, remained with the ladies in the 
drawing-room. Then Marynia, who, as lady principaless, 
felt it her duty to give courage to the future employee of 
the “ house,” approached him, and said, — 

“T, as well as Pani Bigiel, wish that we should all 
consider one another as members of one great family; 
therefore I hope that you will count us too as your good 
acquaintances.” 

“With the greatest readiness, if you permit me,” an- 
swered Zavilovski. “As it is, I would have testified my 
respect.” 


544 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


‘““T made the acquaintance of all the gentlemen in the 
office only at my wedding. We went abroad immediately 
after; but now it will come to a nearer acquaintance. My 
husband told me that he should like to have us meet one 
week at Pan Bigiel’s, and the next week at our house. This 
is a very good plan, but I make one condition.” 

“ What is that ?” asked Pani bigiel. 

“Not to speak of any mercantile matter at those meet- 
ings. There will be a little music, for I hope that Pan 
Bigiel will attend to that; sometimes we ’1l read something, 
like ‘On the Threshold.’ ” 

“Not in my presence,” said Zavilovski, with a forced 
smile. 

“ Why not ?” inquired she, looking at him with her usual 
simplicity. ‘We have spoken of you more than once in 
presence of people really friendly, and thought of you be- 
fore it came to an acquaintance ; and why should we not all 
the more now ?” 

Zavilovski felt wonderfully disarmed. It seemed to him 
that he had fallen among exceptional persons, or at least 
that Pani Polanyetski was an exceptional woman. The 
fear,which burned him like fire, that he might appear ridicu- 
lous with his poetry, his over-long neck, and his pointed 
elbows, began to decrease. He felt ina manner free in her 
presence. He felt that she said nothing for the mere pur- 
pose of talking, or for social reasons, but only that which 
flowed from her kindness and sensitiveness. At the same 
time her face and form delighted him, as they had delighted 
Svirski in Venice. And since he was accustomed to seek 
forms for all his impressions, he began to seek them for her 
too; and he felt that they ought to be not only sincere, but 
exquisite, charming, and complete, just as her own beauty 
was exquisite and complete. He recognized that he had a 
theme, and the artist within him was roused. 

She began now to ask with great friendliness about 
his family relations; fortunately the appearance of Bigiel - 
and Pan Stanislav in the drawing-room freed him from 
more positive answers, which would have been disagreeable. 
His father had been a noted gambler and roisterer on a 
time, and for a number of years had been suffering in an 
institution for the insane. 

Music was to interrupt that dangerous conversation. Pan 
Stanislav had finished the discussion with Bigiel, wha 
said, — 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 345 


“That seems to me a perfect project, but it is necessary 
to think the matter over yet.” 

Then, leaning on his violin, he began to meditate really, 
and said at last, — 

“A wonderful thing! When I play, it is as if there were 
nothing else in my head, but that is not true. A certain 
part of my brain is occupied with other things; and it is 
exactly then that the best thoughts come to me.” 

Saying this, he sat down, took the violoncello between his 
knees, closed his eyes, and began the “Spring Song.” 

Zavilovski went home that day enchanted with the people 
and their simplicity, with the “Spring Song,” and especially 
with Pani Polanyetski. 

She did not even suspect that in time she might enrich 
poetry with a new thrill. 


3846 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 


Tur Mashkos visited the Polanyetskis in a week after 
their return. She, in a gray robe, trimmed with marabout 
feathers of the same color, looked better than ever before. 
Inflammation of the eyes, from which she had suffered 
formerly, had disappeared. Her face had its usual indif-_ 
ferent, almost dreamy mildness, but at present this only 
enhanced her artistic expression. The former Panna Kras- 
lavski was about five years older than Marynia; and 
before marriage the lady looked still older, but now it 
seemed as if she had grown young. Her slender form, 
really very graceful, was outlined in a closely fitting dress 
as firmly as a child’s form. It was strange that Pan Stan- 
islav, who did not like the lady, found in her something 
attractive, and whenever he looked at her said to himself, 
“But there is something in her.” Even her monotonous 
and somewhat childlike voice had a certain charm for him. 
At present he said to himself plainly that she looked ex- 
ceptionally charming, and had improved more than Marynia. 

Mashko, on his part, had unfolded like a sunflower. Dis- — 
tinction was just beaming from him; and at her side self- 
confidence and pride were softened by affability. It seemed 
impossible that he could visit all his lands within one day, 
— ina word, he pretended more than ever. But he did not 
pretend love for his wife, since it was evident from every 
look of his that he felt it really. In truth, it would have ~ 
been difficult to find a woman who could answer better to 
his idea of refinement, good taste, and the elegance of high 
society. Her indifference, her, as it were, frozen manner 
with people, he considered as something simply unapproach- 
able. She never lost this “ distinction” at any time, even 
when she was alone with him. And he, as a genuine par- 
venu who had won a princess, loved her precisely because 
she seemed a princess, and because he possessed her. 

Marynia inquired where they had passed the honey- 
moon. Pani Mashko answered on “my husband’s estate,” 
in such a tone as if that “ husband’s estate ” had been en- 
tailed during twenty generations ; wherewith she added that 
they were not going abroad till next year, when her hus- 








CHILDREN OF THE SOLL. 347 


band would finish certain affairs. Meanwhile they would go 
again to her “ husband’s estate ” for the summer months, 

“Do you like the country ?” inquired Marynia. 

“ Mamma likes the country,’’ answered Pani Mashko. 

“ And does Kremen please your mamma ? ” 

“Yes. But the windows in the house are like those in a 
conservatory. So many panes!” 

“That is somewhat needed,” said Marynia; “for when 
one of those panes is broken, any glazier of the place can 
put in a new one, but for large panes it would be necessary 
to send to Warsaw.” 

“My husband says that he will build a new house.” 

Marynia sighs in secret, and the conversation is changed. 
Now they talk of mutual acquaintances. It appears that 
Pani Mashko had taken lessons in dancing once, together 
with “ Anetka” Osnovski and her young relative, Lineta 
Castelli; that they are well acquainted ; that Lineta is more 
beautiful than Anetka, and, besides, paints, and has a whole 
album of her own poems. Pani Mashko has heard that 
Anetka has returned already and that Lineta is to live in 
the same villa till June together with her aunt Bronich, 
“and that will be very pleasant, for they are so nice.” 

Pan Stanislav and Mashko make their way to the ad- 
joining room, and talk over Panna Ploshovski’s will. 

“T can inform thee that I have sailed out very nearly,” 
said Mashko. “I was almost over the precipice; but that 
action put me on my feet, by this alone, that I began it. 
For years there has not been such aone. The question is 
one of millions. Ploshovski himself was richer than his 
aunt; and before he shot himself, he willed his property to 
Pani Krovitski’s mother, and when she did n’t accept it, the 
whole fortune went to old Panna Ploshovski. Thou wilt 
understand now how much property the woman must have 
teft.”” 

“Bigiel mentioned something like seven hundred thou- 
sand rubles.” 

“Tell thy Bigiel, since he has such love for giving 
figures, that it is more than twice that amount. Well, in 
justice it should be said that I have strength to save my- 
self, and that it is easier to throw me into water than to 
drown me. But I will tell thee something personal. Know- 
est thou whom I have to thank for this? Thy father-in- 
law. Once he mentioned the affair to me, but I waved my 
hand at it. Afterward I fell into the troubles of which I 


348 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 






























wrote thee. I had a knife at my throat. Well, three 
weeks since I chanced to meet Pan Plavitski, who men- 
tioned among other persons Panna Ploshovski, and in. 
vented against her all that he could utter. Suddenly I 
slap my forehead. What have I to lose? Nothing. I 
ask Vyshynski, clerk of the court, to bring the will to me. 
I find informalities, — small ones, but they are there. Ina 
week I have power of attorney from the heirs, and begin an 
action. And what shall Isay? Ata mere report of the fee 
which I am to get in case of success, confidence returns 
to people, patience returns to my creditors, credit returns: 
to me, and I am firm. Dost remember? there was a 
moment when I was lowering my tone, when through my 
head were passing village ideas of living by an ant-like in- 
dustry, of limiting my style of living. Folly! ‘That is diffi- 
cult, my dear. Thou hast reproached me because I pre- 
tend; but with us pretence is needful. To-day I must give 
myself out as a man who is as sure of his property as he is 
of victory.” 

“Tell me sincerely, is this a good case ?” 

“ How a good case ? ” 

“Simply will it not be needful to pull the matter too 
much by the ears against justice ? ” 

“Thou must know that in every case there is something 
to be said in its favor, and the honor of an advocate con- 
sists just in saying this something. In the present case 
the special questions are, who are to inherit, and is the will 
so drawn as to stand in law ; and it was not I who made 
the law.” 

“Then thou hast hopes of gaining ? ” 

“When it is a question of breaking a will, there are 
chances almost always, because generally the attack is con- 
ducted with a hundred times more energy than is the 
defence. Who will defend against me? Institutions; that 
is, bodies unwieldy by nature, of small self-help, whose 
representatives have no personal interest in the defence. 
They will find an advocate ; well! but what will they give 
him, what can they give him? As much as is allowed by 
law; now that advocate will have more chances of profit 
in case I win, for that may depend on a personal bargain 
between him and me. In general, I tell thee that in legal 
actions, as in life, the side wins which has the greater wish 
to win.” 


“But public opinion will grind thee into bran, if thou 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL, 349 


break such wills. My wife is interested a little, thou 
seest.” 

“How a little?” interrupted Mashko. “I shall be a 
genuine benefactor to both of you.” 

“Well, my wife is indignant, and opposed to the whole 
action.” 

“Thy wife is an exception.” 

“Not altogether; it is not to my taste either.” 

“ What’s this? Have they made thee a sentimentalist 
also ?” 

« My dear friend, we have known each other a long time ; 
use that language with some other man.” 

“Well, I will talk of opinions only. To begin with, I 
tell thee that a certain unpopularity for a man genuinely 
comme il faut rather helps than harms him; second, it 
is necessary to understand those matters. People would 
grind me into bran, as thou hast said, should I lose the 
ease; but if I win, I shall be considered a strong head — 
and I shall win.” 

After a while he continued, “And from an economical 
point of view, what is the question? ‘The money will 
remain in the country; and, as God lives, I do not know 
that it will be put to worse use. By aid of it a number 
of sickly children might be reared to imbecility and help 
dwarf the race, or a number of seamstresses might get 
sewing-machines, or a number of tens of old men and 
women live a couple of years longer; not much good could 
come to the country of that. Those are objects quite 
unproductive. We should study political economy some 
time. Finally, I will say in brief, that I had the knife at 
my throat. My first duty is to secure life to myself, my 
wife, and my coming family. If thou art ever in sucha 
position as I was, thou’lt understand me. I chose to sail 
out rather than drown; and such a right every man has. 
My wife, as I wrote thee, has a considerable income, but 
almost no property, or, at least, not much; besides, from 
that income she allows something to her father. I have 
increased the allowance, for he threatened to come here, 
and I did n’t want that.” 

“So thou art sure, then, that Pan Kraslavski exists? 
Thou hast mentioned him, I remember.” 

“T have; and for that very reason I make no secret of 
the matter now. Besides, [ know that people talk to 
the prejudice of my father-in-law and my wife, that they 












350 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


relate God knows what; hence I prefer to tell thee, as a 
friend, how things are. Pan Kraslavski lives in Bordeaux. 
He was an agent in selling sardines, and was earning good. 
money, but he lost the position, for he took to drinking, 
and drinks absinthe; besides, he has created an illegal 
family. Those ladies send him three thousand franes 
yearly; but that sum does not suffice him, and, between 
remittance and remittance, need pinches the man. Because — 
of this he drinks more, and torments those poor women 
with letters, threatening to publish in newspapers how 
they maltreat him; and they treat him better than he 
deserves. He wrote to me, too, immediately after my 
marriage, begging me to increase his allowance a thousand 
francs. Of course he informs me that those women have 
‘eaten him up;’ that he hasn’t had a copper’s worth of 
happiness in life; that their selfishness has gnawed him, 
and warns me against them.” Here Mashko laughed. 
“But the beast has a nobleman’s courage. Once, from 
want, he was going to sell handbills in the corridor of the 
theatre; but the authorities ordered him to don a kind of 
helmet, and he could not endure that. He wrote to me as 
follows: ‘All would have gone well, sir, but for the 
helmet; when they gave me that, I could not.’ He pre- 
ferred death by hunger to wearing the helmet! My 
father-in-law pleases me! I was in Bordeaux on a time, 
but forget what manner of helmets are worn by the venders — 
of handbills; but I should like to see such a helmet. Thou — 
wilt understand, of course, that I preferred to add the 
thousand frances, if I could keep him far away, with his 
helmet and his absinthe. This is what pains me, however: 
people say that even here he was a sort of tipstaff, or 
notary; and that is a low fiction, for it is enough to open 
the first book on heraldry to see who the Kraslavskis 
were. Here connections are known; and the Kraslavskis 
are in no lack of them. The man fell; but the family was 
and is famous. Those ladies have dozens of relatives who 
are not so and so; and if I tell this whole story, I do so 
because I wish thee to know what the truth is.” 

But the truth touching the Kraslavskis concerned Pan 
Stanislav little; so he returned to the ladies, and all the 
more readily that Zavilovski had just come. Pan Stanislav 
had invited the young man to after-dinner tea, so as to 
show him photographs brought from Italy. In fact, piles 
of them were laid out on the table; but Zavilovski was — 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL, 351 


holding in his hand the frame containing the photograph 
of Litka’s head, and was so enchanted that immediately 
after they made him acquainted with Mashko, he looked 
again at the portrait, and continued to speak of it. 

“T should have thought it the idea of an artist rather 
than a portrait of a living child. What a wonderful head! 
What an expression! Is this your sister? ” 

“No,” answered Marynia; “that is a child no longer 
living.” 

In the eyes of Zavilovski, as a poet, that tragic shadow 
increased his sympathy and admiration for that truly 
angelic face. He looked at the photograph for some time 
in silence, now holding it away from his eyes, and now 
drawing it nearer. 

“T asked if it was your sister,” said he, ‘‘because there 
is something in the features, in the eyes rather; indeed, 
there is something.” 

Zavilovski seemed to speak sincerely; but Pan Stanislav 
had such a respect for the dead child, a respect almost 
religious, that, in spite of his recognition of Marynia’s 
beauty, the comparison seemed to him a kind of profana- 
tion. Hence, taking the photograph from Zavilovski’s 
hands, he put it back on the table, and began to speak 
with a certain harsh animation, — 

“Not the least; not the least! There is not one trait in 
common. How is it possible to compare them! Not one 
trait in common.” 

This animation touched Marynia somewhat. 

“T am of that opinion, too,” said she. 

But her opinion was not enough for him. 

“Did you know Litka?” asked he, turning to Pani 
Mashko. 

Pemid.” 

“True; you saw her at the Bigiels’.” 

ae did.” 

“Well, there was n’t a trace of likeness, was there?” 

“ No.” 

Zavilovski, who adored Marynia, looked at Pan Stanislav 
with a certain astonishment; then he glanced at the tall 
form of Pani Mashko, outlined through the gray robe, 
and thought, — 

“How elegant she is!” 

After a while the Mashkos rose to take farewell. 
Mashko, when kissing Marynia’s hand at parting, said, — 


352 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


















‘**Perhaps I shall go to St. Petersburg soon; at that time 
remember my wite a little.” | 
During tea Marynia reminded Zavilovski of his promise 
to bring at his first visit, and read to her, the variant of 
“On the Threshold; ” he had grown so attached to the 
Polanyetskis already that he gave not only the variant, 
but another poem, which he had written earlier. It was 
evident that he was amazed himself at his own self-confi- 
dence and readiness; so that when he had finished reading, 
and heard the praises, which were really sincere, he said, — 
‘“*T declare truly that with you, after the third meeting, 
it seems as though we were acquainted from of old. So 
true is this that I am astonished.” 
Pan Stanislav remembered that once he had said some- 
thing similar to Marynia in Kremen; but he received this 
now as if it included him also. 
But Zavilovski had her only in mind; she simply 
delighted him with her straightforward kindness, and her 
face. 
“That beast is really capable,” said Pan Stanislav, when 
Zavilovski had gone. ‘Hast thou noticed that he is 
shanged a little in the face?” 
“He has cut his hair,” answered Marynia. 
“Ah, ha! and his chin sticks out a trifle more.” 
Thus speaking, Pan Stanislav rose and began to put 
away the photographs on the shelves above the table; 
finally, he took Litka’s portrait, and said, — 
“T will take this to my study.” | 
*But thou hast that one there with the birches, colored.” 
“True; but I do not want this here so much in view. 
Every one makes remarks, and sometimes that angers me. 
Wilt thou permit?” 
“Very well, my Stas,” answered Marynia. 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 353 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


Bieret persuaded Pan Stanislav emphatically not to ex- 
tend the house, and not to throw himself too hurriedly into 
undertakings of various sorts. “We have created,” said 
he, “an honorable mercantile firm of a kind rare in this 
country; hence we are useful.” He maintained that from 
gratitude alone they ought to continue a business through 
which they had almost doubled their property. At the 
same time he expressed the conviction that they would 
show more sense if at this juncture specially they managed 
matters with care and solidly, and that their first bold 
speculation, though it had been fortunate, should not only 
not entice them to others, but should be the last. 

Pan Stanislav agreed that it was necessary to show 
moderation, especially in success; but he complained that 
he could not find a career in the house, and that he wanted 
to produce something. He had common-sense enough not 
to think yet of a factory on his own capital. “I do not 
wish to carry on a small one,” said he, “since a large one 
producing en gros attracts me, and I have not capital for 
it; one with shares, I should be working not for myself, 
but for others.” He understood, too, that it was not easy 
to find shareholders among the local elements, and he did 
not want strangers; he knew, moreover, that he could not 
rouse confidence in them, and that his name alone would 
be a hindrance. Bigiel, for whom it was a question of the 
“house,” was sincerely pleased with this sobriety of view. 

In Pan Stanislav was roused still another desire, which 
is as old as man, —the desire of possession. After the 
lucky grain speculation and the will of Bukatski, he was 
quite wealthy; but with all his real sobriety, he had a 
certain strange feeling that that wealth, consisting even 
of the most reliable securities shut up in fire-proof safes, 
was just paper, and would remain so till he owned some- 
thing real, of which he could say, “This is mine.” That 
strange desire was seizing him with growing force. For 
him it was not a question of anything great, but of some 
corner of his own, where he might feel at home. He tried 
to philosophize over this, and to explain to Bigiel that 

: 23 


354 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 




























such a desire of ownership must be some inborn passion 
which might be repressed, but which, in riper age, would 
appear with new strength. Bigiel acknowledged that that 
might be true, and said, — 

“That is proper. Thou art married, hence hast the 
wish to have thy own hearth, not a hired one; and 
since thou hast the means, then make such a hearth for 
thyself.” 

Pan Stanislav had been thinking for some time of build- 
ing a large house in the city, — a house which would satisfy 
his desire of ownership, and also bring income. But one 
day he noted a bad side in this practical project,— namely, 
it had no charm. It is necessary to love that something of 
which he said, ‘*It is mine; ” and how love a brick build- 
ing, in which any one may live who will hire lodgings. 
At first he was ashamed of this thought, for it seemed 
sentimental; but afterward he said to himself, “No; since 
I have means, it is not only not sentimental to use them 
in a way which will assure satisfaction, but a proof of 
judgment.” He was more attracted by the thought of a 
smaller house in the city, or outside the city, —one in 
which only he and his wife would live. But he wanted 
with it even a piece of land on which something would 
grow; he felt, for example, that the sight of trees growing 
in his garden or before his house, on his land, would 
cause him great pleasure; he was astonished himself that 
this was so, but it was. At last he came to the conviction 
that it would be more agreeable to have some little place 
near the city, something in the style of that summer house 
which Bigiel owned, but with a piece of land, a piece of 
forest, some acres of garden, finally, with grounds, and 
with a stork’s nest somewhere on an old linden-tree. 

“Since I have means to get it, I prefer it to be thus, not 
otherwise, —that is, to be beautiful, not ugly,” said he. 

And he began to consider the affair on every side. He 
understood that since it was a question of a nest in which 
he was to live out his life, he ought to select with care; _ 
hence he did not hurry. Meanwhile meditation over this 
occupied all his hours free from counting-house toil, and 
caused him real pleasure. Various people learned soon 
that Pan Stanislav was seeking to buy with ready money; 
hence propositions came from various sides, often strange 
but at times attractive. On occasions he had to drive to 
villas in the city, or outside it. Frequently, after his 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 85d 


return from the counting-house, or after dinner, Pan 
Stanislav shut himself in with plans, with papers, and 
came out only in the evening. In those days Marynia had 
much leisure. She noted at last that something occupied 
him unusually, and tried to learn what it was by question- 
ing; but he answered, — 

“My child, when there is a result, I will tell thee; but 
while I know nothing, it would be difficult to talk about 
nothing. ‘That is so opposed to my nature.” 

She learned at last what the question was from Pani 
Bigiel, who had learned it from her husband, to whose 
nature it was not repugnant to speak with his wife about 
all undertakings and plans for the future. For Marynia it 
would have been also immensely agreeable to speak with 
her husband of everything, and especially of the chance 
ofanest. Her eyes laughed at the very thought of that; 
but since “Stas’s” disposition stood in the way, she pre- 
ferred through delicacy not to inquire. 

He had no ill-will in this, but simply it did not occur to 
him to initiate her into any affair in which there was a 
question of money. It might have been otherwise had 
she brought him a considerable dower, or had he been 
forced to manage her property. In such affairs he was 
very scrupulous. But since he was managing only his own, 
_ he did not feel now any more than in his past unmarried 
years any need of confessing, especially while nothing was 
determined. With Bigiel alone did he talk, because he 
was accustomed to talk with him of business. 

With his wife he spoke of things which, according to 
him, “pertained to her;” hence, among other things, of 
the acquaintances which they should make. Toward the 
end of his single life he had been scarcely anywhere; but 
he felt that at present he could not act thus. They re- 
turned, therefore, visits to the Mashkos; and on a certain 
evening they began to consider whether they ought to visit 
the Osnovskis, who had returned from abroad, and would 
remain in Warsaw till the middle of June. Mary nia said 
that they ought, beeause they should see them at Pani 
Mashko’s; and she wished to make a visit, for she liked 
Pan Osnovski, who had moved her sympathy. Pan Stanis- 
lav seemed less willing, and the decision was according 
to his wish at first; but some days later the Osnovskis met 
Marynia and greeted her so cordially, Pani Osnovski 
repeated so often, ‘‘We Roman women,” and both put 




























356 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


such emphasis on the hope of seeing and meeting her, that _ 
it was not possible to avoid the visit. 

When the visit was made, politeness was shown first of 
all to Marynia. The husband vied with his wife in this 
regard. Like well-bred people, they were faultlessly polite 
to Pan Stanislav, but colder. He understood that Marynia 
played the first, and he only the second role, and that irri- 
tated him a little. Pan Osnovski, for that matter, had no 
need to make an effort in being polite to Marynia; for, 
feeling that she had for him earnest sympathy, he repaid 
her with interest, though, in general, to act thus was not 
his habit. 

He seemed to her more in love with his wife than ever. 
It was evident that his heart beat with more life when he 
was looking at her. When speaking to her, he seemed to 
ofter his expressions with a certain fear, as it were, lest he 
might offend her with something. Pan Stanislav looked 
on with a kind of pity; but the sight was also touching. 
In his struggle with corpulence, however, Pan Osnovski 
had gained such a crushing victory that his clothing seemed 
too large for him. The pimples on his blond face had 
vanished, and, in general, he was more presentable than 
he had been. 

But the lady had, as ever, her incomparable, sloping 
violet eyes, and thoughts, which, like birds of paradise,, 
were playing in the air continually. 

The Polanyetskis made new acquaintances at the Osnov- 
skis, — namely, Pani Bronich and her sister’s daughter, 
Panna Castelli; these ladies had arrived for the “summer 
carnival” in Warsaw, and were living in the same villa, 
which the late Pan Bronich had sold to the Osnovskis, 
with the reservation of one pavilion for his wife. Pani 
Bronich was a widow after Pan Bronich, whom she men- 
tioned as the last relative of the Princes Ostrogski, and as 
the last descendant of Rurik. She was known in the city 
also under the title of “Sweetness;” for this name she 
was indebted to the fact that, when talking, especially to 
persons whom she needed, she became so pleasing that it 
seemed as if she were speaking through a lump of sugar 
held in her mouth. Marvels were told of her lies. Panna 
Castelli was the daughter of Pani Bronich’s sister, who, 
in her day, to the great offence of her family and of 
society, married an Italian, a music-teacher, and died in 
labor, leaving a daughter. When, a year later, Pa 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. B57 


Castelli was drowned at Venice, in the Lido, Pani Bronien 
took her niece, and reared her. 

Panna Lineta was a beauty, with very regular features, 
blue eyes, golden hair, and a complexion too fair, for it 
was almost like porcelain. Her eyelids were rather heavy; 
this gave her a dreamy look, but that dreaminess might 
seem also concentration. It might be supposed that she 
was a person who led an immensely developed inner life, 
and hence bore herself indifferently toward all that sur- 
rounded her. If any man had not come on that idea un- 
aided, he might be sure that Pani Bronich would help him. 
Pani Osnovski, who had passed through the grades of en- 
chantment over her cousin, said of Lineta’s eyes, “They 
are as deep as lakes.” The only question was what is at 
the bottom; and it was precisely this secret which gave 
her charm to the young lady. 

The Osnovskis came with the intention of remaining in 
Warsaw; but Pani Aneta had not seen Rome in vain. 
“Art, and art!” said she to Pani Marynia; “I wish to 
know of nothing else.” Her professed plan was to open 
an “Athenian” salon; but her secret one was to become 
the Beatrice of some Dante, the Laura of some Petrarch, 
or, at least, something in the nature of Vittoria Colonna 
for some Michael Angelo. 

“We have a nice garden with the villa,” said she. ‘*The 
evenings will be beautiful, and we shall pass them in such 
Roman and Florentine conversations. You know” (here 
she raised her hands to the height of her shoulders, and 
began to move them), “the gray hour, a little twilight, a 
little moonlight, a few lamps, a few shadows from the 
trees; we shall sit and talk in an undertone about every- 
thing, —life, feelings, art. In truth, that is worth more 
than gossip! My Yozio, perhaps thou wilt be annoyed; 
but be not angry, do this for my sake, and, believe me, it 
will be very nice.” 

“But, my Anekta, can I be annoyed by what pleases 
thee?” 

“Especially now, while Lineta is with us; she is an 
artist in every drop of her blood.” 

Here she turned to Lineta. “What fine thread is that 
head spinning now? What dost thou say of such Roman 
evenings?” 

Lineta smiled dreamily; and the widow of ‘‘ Rurik’s last 
descendant” began to speak, with an expression of inde- 
scribable sweetness, to Pan Stanislav, — 




























308 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“You do not know that Victor Hugo blessed her when 
she was yet a little girl.” ? 
“Then did you ladies know Victor Hugo?” asked 
Marynia. ea : 
‘‘We? no! I would not know him for anything in the 
world; but once, when we were going through Passy, he 
stood on a balcony, and I know not whether through some- 
thing prophetic, or through inspiration, the moment he set 
eyes on Lineta, he raised his hand and blessed her.” 

“Aunt!” said Panna Castelli. 

“When it is true, my child; and what is true, is true! — 
I called at once to her, ‘ See, see! he is raising his hand!” 
and Pan Tsardyn, the consul, who was sitting on the 
front seat, saw also that he raised his hand, and gave a 
blessing. I tell this freely, for perhaps the Lord God 
forgave him his sins, of which he had many, because of 
this blessing. He was of such perverse mind; and still, 
when he saw Lineta, he blessed her.” 

There was in the tale this much truth,—those ladies, 
while going through Passy, really saw Victor Hugo on a 
baleony. As to the blessing which they said he gave 
Lineta, malicious tongues in Warsaw declared that he 
raised his hand because he was yawning at the moment. 

Meanwhile Pani Aneta continued , — 

‘*We’ll make for ourselves here a little Italy; and should 
the attempt fail, next winter we ’ll escape to the great one. — 
It has entered my head already to open a house in Rome. 
Meantime Yozio has bought a number of nice copies of 
statues and paintings. That was so worthy on his part, 
for he doesn’t care much about them; he did this only for 
me. There are very good things among them; for Yozio- 
had the wit not to trust himself, and begged the aid of | 
Pan Svirski. It is a pity that they are not here; it isa 
pity, too, that Pan Bukatski died, as it were, through 
perversity, for he would have been useful. At times he 
was very nice; he had a certain subtlety, snake-like, and 
that in conversation, gives life. But” (here she turned to 
Marynia) “do you know that you have conquered Pan Svir- 
skiutterly? After you had left Rome, he talked of no one. 
else, and he has begun a Madonna with your features. 
You’ll become a Fornarina! Evidently you have luck 
with artists; and when my Florentine evenings begin, Lineta 
and I must be careful, —if not, we shall go to the corner.” 

But Pani Bronich, casting hostile glances at Marynia, 
said, — f 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 859 


“Tf it is a question of faces which make an impression 
on artists, 171] tell the company what happened once in 
Nice.” 

**Aunt!” interrupted Panna Castelli. 

“But if it is true, my child; and what’s true, is true! A 
year ago —no! two years ago— Oh, how time flies! —” 

But Pani Aneta, who had heard more than once, surely, 
what had happened at Nice, began to inquire of Marynia, — 

“But have you many acquaintances in the world of 
artists? ” 

“My husband has,” answered Marynia, “I have not; but 
we know Pan Zavilovski.” 

Pani Aneta fell into real enthusiasm at this news. It 
was her dream to know Zavilovski, and let ‘* Yozio” say 
if it was not her dream. Not long before, she and Lineta 
had read his verses entitled “Ex imo;” and Lineta, who, 
at times, knows how to describe an impression with one 
word, as no one else can, said, — what is it that she said 
so characteristic? 

“That there was in that something bronze-like,” added 
Pani Bronich. 

**Yes, something bronze-like; I imagined to myself also 
Pan Zavilovski as something cast. How does he look in 
reality?” 

“He is short, fat, fifty years old,” said Pan Stanislav, 
“and has no hair on his head.” 

At this the faces of Pani Aneta and Lineta took on such 
an expression of disenchantment that Marynia laughed, 
and said, — 

“Do not believe him, ladies; he is malicious, and likes 
to torment. Pan Zavilovski is young, somewhat shy, a 
little like Wagner.” 

“That means that he has a chin like Punch,” added Pan 
Stanislav. 

But Pani Aneta paid no heed to Pan Stanislav’s words, 
and obtained from Marynia a promise to make her ac- 
quainted with Pan Zavilovski, and soon, ‘‘very soon, for 
summer is at the girdle!” 

“We will try to make it pleasant for him among us, and 
that he shouldn’t be shy; though, if he is a little shy, 
that is no harm, for he ought to be, and, like an eagle in a 
eage, withdraw when people approach him. But we will 
come to an understanding with Lineta; she, too, is wrapped 
up in herself, and is as mysterious as a sphinx.” 


360 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 





















“It seems to me that every uncommon soul —” began 
Aunt Sweetness. 

But the Polanyetskis rose to go. In the entrance they 
met the wonderful Kopovski, whose shoes the servants 
were dusting, and who was arranging meanwhile the hair 
on his statuesque head, which was as solid as marble. 
When outside, Pan Stanislav remarked, — 

“He, too, will be useful for their ‘ Florentine’ evenings; 
he, too, is a sphinx.” 

“If he were to stand in a niche,” said Marynia. “But 
what beautiful women they are!” 

“It is a wonderful thing,” answered Pan Stanislav, 
“though Pani Osnovski is good-looking, I, for example, 
prefer Pani Mashko as a beauty. As to Castelli, she is, 
in truth, beautiful, though too tall. Hast thou noticed 
how they speak of her all the time, but she not a word?” 

“She has a very intelligent opinion,” answered Marynia, 
“but is, perhaps, a little timid, like poor Zavilovski.” | 

“Tt is necessary to think of arranging for that acquaint- — 
ance.” 

But an accident disturbed these plans of making the 
acquaintance. Marynia, on the day following this visit, 
slipped on the stone stairs, and struck her knee against the 
step with such violence that she had to lie in bed several 
days. Pan Stanislav, on returning from the office, learned 
what had happened. Alarmed at first, then pacified by the 
doctor, he upbraided his wife rather sharply. 

“Thou shouldst remember that it may be a question not 
of thee alone,” said he. 

She suffered severely from the fall and from these 
words, which seemed to her too unsparing; for she consid- 
ered that with him it should above all be a question of her, 
especially as other fears were baseless so far. Aside from 
this, he showed great attention; neither on the next nor 
the following day did he go to the counting-house, but re- 
mained to take care of her. In the forenoon he read to 
her; after lunch, he worked in the adjoining room with 
open doors, so that she might call him at any moment. 
Affected by this care, she thanked him very warmly; in 
return he kissed her, and said, — . 

“My child, it is a simple duty. Thou seest that even 
strangers inquire about thee daily.” 

In fact, strangers did inquire daily. Zavilovski inquired 
in the counting-house, ‘“ How does the lady feel?” Pani 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 361 


Bigiel came in the forenoon, and Bigiel in the evening; 
without going to the chamber of the sick woman, he 
played on the piano in the next room to entertain her. 
The Mashkos and Pani Bronich left cards twice. Pam 
Osnovski, leaving her husband in the carriage below, broke 
into Marynia a little by violence, and sat with her about 
two hours, talking, with her usual gift of jumping from 
subject to subject, of Rome, of her intended evenings, of 
Svirski, of her husband, of Lineta, and of Zavilovski, who 
didn’t let her sleep. Toward the end of the visit, she 
declared that they ought to say thow to each other, and 
that she invited Marynia to give aid in one plan: “that is, 
not a plan, but a conspiracy ;” or, rather, in a certain thing 
which had so struck into her head that it was burning, and 
burning to such a degree that her whole head was on fire. 

“That Zavilovski has so stuck in my mind tbat Yozio 
has begun to be jealous of him; but in the end of the 
affair, Yozio, poor fellow, doesn’t know himself what to 
think. Iam sure that he and Lineta are created for each 
other, — not Yozio and Lineta, but Zavilovski and Lineta. 
That poetry, that poetry! And don’t laugh, Marynia; don’t 
think me moonstruck. Thou dost not know Lineta. She 
needs some uncommon man. She would n’t marry Kopov- 
ski for anything, though Kopovski looks like an archangel. 
Such a face as Kopovski has, I have never seen in life. 
In Italy, perhaps, in some picture, and even then not. 
Knowest thou what Lineta says of him ? — ‘ C’est un imbé- 
eile.’ But still she looks at him. ‘Think how beautiful 
that would be, if they should become acquainted, and love, 
and take each other, —that is, not Kopovski and Lineta, 
but Zavilovski and Lineta. That would be a couple! Li- 
neta, with her aspirations, whom can she find? Where is 
there a man for her? What we have seen, that we have 
seen. I imagine how they would live. It is so wearisome in 
the world that when it is possible to have such a plan, it is 
worth while to work for it. Moreover, I know that that 
will succeed without difficulty, for Aunt Bronich is wringing 
her hands, — where can she find a husband for Lineta? I 
am afraid that I have worn thee out, and surely I have 
tormented thee; but it is so nice to talk, especially when 
one is making some plan.” 

In fact, Marynia felt, as it were, a turning of the head 
after Pani Aneta had gone. Still when Pan Stanislav 
came in, she told him of the plans prepared against Zavi- 


362 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


lovski, and, laughing a little at the eagerness of Pani 
Aneta, said at last, — 

“She must have a good heart, and she pleases me; but 
what an enthusiast! What is there that doesn’t rush 
through her head ?” 

“She is impetuous, but no enthusiast,’ answered Pan 
Stanislav; “and see what the difference is, — enthusiasm 
comes almost always from the warmth of a good heart, 
while impetuousness frequently agrees with a dry heart, 
and often comes even from this, that the head is hot, and 
the heart is asleep.” 

“Thou hast no liking for Pani Aneta,” said Marynia. 

Pan Stanislav did not indeed like her; but this time, 
instead of confirming or contradicting, he looked at his 
wife with a certain curiosity, and that moment her beauty 
struck him,—her hair flowing in disorder on the pillow, 
and her small face coming out of the dark waves, just like 
a flower. Her eyes seemed bluer than usual; through her 
open mouth was to be seen the row of small white teeth. 
Pan Stanislav approached her, and said in an undertone, — 

“ How beautiful thou art to-day !” 

And, bending over her, with changed face, he fell to kiss- 
ing her eyes and mouth. 

But every kiss moved her, and each movement caused 
pain. It was disagreeable, besides, that he had noticed her 
beauty as if by accident; his expression of face was dis- 
tasteful to her, and his inattention; therefore she turned 
away her head. 

“Stas, do not kiss me so roughly ; thou knowest that Iam 
suffering.” 

Then he stood erect, and said with suppressed anger, — 

“True; I beg pardon.” 

And he went to his room to examine the plan of a cer- 
tain summer house with a garden, which had been sent to 
him that morning. 


os 

















CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 8638 


CHAPTER XL. 


But Marynia’s illness was not lasting, and a week later 
she and her husband were able to visit the Bigiels, who 
had moved to their summer residence; for the weather, 
notwithstanding the early season, was fine, and in the city 
summer heats were almost beginning. Zavilovski, who had 
grown accustomed to them, went also, taking an immense 
kite, which he was to fly in company with Pan Stanislav 
and the children. The Bigiels; too, hked Zavilovski, since 
he was simple, and, except his shyness, a pleasant man, on 
occasions even childlike. Pani Bigiel maintained, more- 
over, that he had a peculiar head; which was in so far true, 
that he had a scar on his eyelid, and that his prominent 
chin gave him an expression of energy which was contra- 
dicted utterly by his upper face, which was delicate, almost 
feminine. At first Pani Bigiel sought in him an original ; 
but he mastered everything, and therefore himself, too 
quickly. He was simply a great enthusiast of unequal 
temper, because he was timid; and he was not without hid- 
den pride. 

At dinner they mentioned the Osnovskis to him, and 
the projected Athenian-Roman-Florentine evenings, Panna 
Castelli, and the curiosity which he had roused in the 
ladies. When he heard this, he said, — 

“Oh, it is well to know that; I shall not go there now 
for anything in the world.” 

“You will make their acquaintance first at our house,” 
said Marynia. 

“T shall escape from the entrance,” said he, clasping his 
hands. 

“Why?” asked Pan Stanislav. “It is needful to have 
the courage not only of one’s convictions, but of one’s 
verses.” 

“Evidently,” said Pani Bigiel. ‘What is there to be 
ashamed of ? I should look people in the eyes boldly and 
say: I write; yes, I write.” 

“JT write; yes, I write,” repeated Zavilovski, raising his 
head and laughing. 


B64 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


But Marynia continued: “ You will make their acquaint- 
ance at our house; then you will leave your card with 
them, and after that we will visit them some evening.” 

“JT cannot hide my head in snow,” said he, “ because 
there is none; but I'll find some place of hiding.” 

“ But if I entreat you greatly ?” 

“Then I will go,” answered Zavilovski, after a while, 
blushing slightly ; and he looked at her. 

Her face, somewhat pale after protracted lying in bed, 
had become more delicate, and looked like the face of a 
maiden of sixteen. She seemed so wonderful to the young 
man that he could refuse her nothing. 

In the evening, Pan Stanislav was to take him back to 
the city; but before that Marynia said to him, — 

“Now you must be constrained, for you have not seen 
Panna Lineta Castelli; but as soon as you have seen her, 
you will fall in love.” 

“JT, Pani?” cried Zavilovski, putting his hand on his 
breast; “I, with Panna Castelli ? ” 

And there was so much sincerity in his question that 
he was confused again; but this time Marynia herself was 
confused somewhat. 

Meantime Pan Stanislav has finished his conversation 
with Bigiel about the dangers of investing capital in land, 
and they drive away. Marynia remembers how once she 
returned with her father, Pani Emilia, Litka, and Pan 
Stanislav from the Bigiels, in a moonlight night such as 
this; how “Pan Stanislav’ was in love with her then; 
how unhappy he was; how severe she was with him; and 
her heart begins to beat with pity for that ‘ Pan Stanislav,” 
who suffered so much on a time. She wants to nestle up 
to him and implore pardon for those evil moments of the 
past; and but for the presence of Zavilovski, she would 
do so. 

But that old-time Pan Stanislav is sitting there calm and 
self-confident at her side, and smoking his cigar. Moreover, 
she is his; he has taken her and has her; all is over. 

“ Of what art thou thinking, Stas ?” inquired she. 

“Of the business of which I was talking with Bigiel.” 

And, shaking the ashes from his cigar, he replaced it in 
his mouth, and drew so vigorously that a ruddy gleam 
lighted his mustache and a part of his face. 

Zavilovski, looking at Marynia’s face, thought in his 
young soul that if she were his wife he would not smoke 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 865 


a cigar, nor think of business of which he had been talk- 
ing with Bigiel, but might kneel before her and adore her 
on his knees. 

And gradually, under the influence of the night and 
that sweet womanly face, which he glorified, exaltation 
possessed him. After a time he began to declaim, at first 
in silence, as if to himself, then more audibly, his verses 
entitled, “Snows on the Mountains.” There was in that 
poem, as it were, an immense yearning for something un- 
approachable and immaculate. Zavilovski himself did not 
know when they arrived in the city, and when lamps began 
to gleam on both sides of the street. At Pan Stanislav’s 
house Marynia said, — 

“To-morrow, then, to a five o’clock.” 

“Yes,” answered he, kissing her hand. 

Marynia was sunk somewhat in revery under the influence 
of the ride, the night, and maybe the verses. But from 
the time of their stay in Rome, she and her husband had 
repeated the rosary together. And after these prayers a 
great tenderness possessed her suddenly, —as it were, an 
influx of feeling, hidden for a time by other impressions. 
Approaching him, she put her arms around his neck, and 
whispered, — 

“My Stas, but we feel so pleasant together, do we 
not?” 

He drew her toward him, and answered with a certain 
careless boastfulness, — 

“But do I complain ?”’ 

And it did not oceur to him that there was in her ques- 
tion something like a shade of doubt and sorrow, which 
she did not like to admit to her soul, and desired him to 
calm and convince her. 

Next morning in the office Zavilovski gave Pan Stanislav 
a cutting from some paper of “Snows on the Mountains ; ” 
he read it during dinner, but with the sound of forks the 
verses seemed less beautiful than amid the night stillness 
and in moonlight. 

“ Zavilovski told me,” said Pan Stanislav, “that a volume 
would be issued soon; but he has promised to collect first 
everything printed in various journals, and bring it to 
thee.” 

* No,” said Marynia; “he should keep them for Lineta.” 

« Ah, they are to meet to-morrow for the first time. Ye 
wish absolutely to make an epoch in Zavilovski’s life ?” 


366 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“We do,” answered Marynia, with decisiveness. “ Aneta 
astonished me at first; but why not?” 

Indeed, the meeting took place. The Osnovskis, Pani 
Bronich, and Panna Castelli came very punctually at five; 
Zavilovski had come still earlier, to avoid entering a room 
in presence of a whole society. But as it was he was not 
only frightened, but more awkward than usual, and never 
had his legs seemed so long to him. There was, however, 
a certain distinction even in his awkwardness; and Pani 
Aneta was able to see that. The first scenes of the human 
comedy began, in which those ladies, as well-bred persons, 
guarding against every rudeness and staring at Zavilovski, 
did not, however, do anything else; he, feigning not to see 
this, was not thinking of anything else than how they were 
looking at him and judging him. ‘This caused him great 
constraint, which he strove to hide by artificial freedom ; 
he had so much self-love, however, that he was interested 
in having the judgment favorable. But the ladies were 
so attuned previously that the decision could not be — 
unfavorable ; and even had Zavilovski turned out flat and 
dull it would have been taken for wisdom and _ poetic 
originality. More indifferent was the bearing of Lineta, 
who was somewhat astonished that for the moment, not 
she was the sun, and Zavilovski the moon, but the contrary. 
The first impression which he made on her was: “ What 
comparison with that stupid Kopoyski!” 

And the incomparable, wonderful face of that “stupid” 
stood before her eyes as if living; therefore her lids became 
dreamier still, and the expression of her face called to mind 
a sphinx in porcelain more than ever. She is irritated, how- 
ever, that Zavilovski turns almost no attention to her form 
of a Juno, nor to that something “mysterious and poetic,” 
which, as Pani Bronich insists, fetters one from the first 
glance. She begins to observe him gradually; and, having, 
besides her poetic inclination, the sense of social observation 
developed powerfully, she sees that he has much expression 
indeed, but that his coat fits badly, that he dresses, of course, 
at a poor tailor’s, and that the pin in his cravat is mawvais 
genre simply. Meanwhile he casts occasional glances at 
Marynia, as the one near and friendly soul, and converses — 
with Pani Aneta, who considers it as the highest tact not 
to mention poetry on first acquaintance, and, knowing that 
Zavilovski had passed the early years of his childhood in the 
country, begins to chatter about her inclinations for rural 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 367 


life. Her husband prefers the city always, having his 
friends and pleasures in the city, but as to her !— “Oh, I 
am sincere, and I confess at once that I cannot endure land 
management and accounts; for this I have been scolded 
more than once. Besides, I ama trifle lazy; therefore I 
should like work in which I could be lazy. What should 
I like, then ?” 

Here she spreads out her extended fingers so as to count 
more easily the occupations which would suit her taste : 

“First, I should like to herd geese!” 

Zavilovski laughs; she seems to him natural, and, besides, 
the picture of Pani Osnovski herding geese amuses him. 

Her violet eyes begin to laugh also; and she falls into the 
tone of a free and joyous maiden, who talks of everything 
which runs through her head. 

“ And you would like that ?” inquires she of Zavilovski, 

“ Passionately.” 

“Ah, you see! What else? I should like to be a fisher- 
man. ‘he morning dawn must be reflected beautifully in 
the water. Then the damp nets before the cottage, with 
films of water between the meshes of the net. If nota 
fisherman, I should like to be at least a heron, and meditate 
in the water on one leg, or a lapwing in the fields. But no! 
the lapwing is a sad kind of bird, as if in mourning.” 

Here she turned to Panna Castelli, — 

“ Lineta, what wouldst thou like to be in the country ?” 

Panna Lineta raised her lids, and answered after a while, — 

“ A spider-web.” 

The imagination of Zavilovski as a poet was touched by 
this answer. Suddenly a great yellow sweep of stubble 
stood before his eyes, with silver threads floating in the 
calm blue and in the sun. 

“ Ah, what a pretty picture !” said he. 

He looked more carefully at Lineta; and she smiled, as if 
in thankfulness that he had felt the beauty of the image. 

But at that moment the Bigiels came. Pani Bronich took 
Zavilovski into her sphere of influence, and so hemmed him 
in with her chair that he had no chance to escape. It was 
easy to divine the subject of their dialogue, for Zavilovski 
raised his eyes from time to time to Lineta, as if to convince 
himself that he was looking at that about which he was 
hearing. At last, though the conversation was conducted in 
subdued tones, those present heard these words, spoken as 
if through sugar, — 


368 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 



















“Do you know that Napoleon — that is, I wanted to say 
Victor Hugo — blessed her?” 

In general, Zavilovski had heard so many uncommon 
things that he might look at Lineta with a certain curi- 
osity. She had been, according to those narratives, the most — 
marvellous child in the world, always very gentle, and 
not strong. At ten years she had been very ill; sea air 
was prescribed, and those ladies dwelt a long time on 
Stromboli. 

“The child looked at the volcano, at the sea, and clapped 
her little hands, repeating, ‘Beautiful, beautiful!’ We 
went there by chance, wandered in on a hired yacht, with- 
out object; it was difficult to stay long, for that is an empty 
island. There was no proper place to live in, and not much 
to eat; but she, as if with foreknowledge that she would 
regain her health there, would not leave for anything. In 
fact, in a month, and if not in a month, in two, she began 
to be herself, and see what a reed she is.” 

In fact, Lineta, though shapely and not too large, in 
stature was somewhat taller than Pani Aneta. Zavilovski 
looked at her with growing interest. Before the guests 
separated, when he was freed at last from imprisonment, he 
approached her, and said, — 

“T have never seen a volcano, and I have no idea what 
impression it may make.” 

“T know only Vesuvius,” answered she; “but when I 
saw it there was no eruption.” 

“But Stromboli ?” 

“T do not know it.” 

“Then I have heard incorrectly, for — your aunt —” 

“Yes,” answered Lineta, “I don’t remember ; I was small, 
I suppose.” 

And on her face displeasure and confusion were 
reflected. 

Before she took leave, Pani Aneta, without destroying 
her role of charming prattler, invited Zavilovski for some 
evening, ‘‘ without ceremony and without a dress-coat, for 
such a spring might be considered summer, and in summer 
freedom is the most agreeable. That such a man as you 
does not like new acquaintances, I know, but for that there 
is a simple remedy: consider us old acquaintances. We are 
alone most generally. Lineta reads something, or tells what 
passes through her head; and such various things pass 
through her head that it is worth while to hear her, espe- 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 369 


cially for a person who beyond others is in a position to feel 
and understand her.” 

Panna Lineta pressed his hand at parting with unusual 
heartiness, as if confirming the fact that they could and 
should understand each other. Zavilovski, unused to society, 
was a little dazed by the words, the rustle of the robes, the 
eyes of those ladies, and by the odor of iris which they left 
behind. He felt besides some weariness, for that conversa- 
tion, though free and apparently natural, lacked the repose 
which was always found in the words of Pani Polanyetski 
and Pani Bigiel. For a time there remained with him the 
impression of a disordered dream. 

The Bigiels were to stay to dinner. Pan Stanislav there- 
fore kept Zavilovski. They began to talk of the ladies. 

“Well, and Panna Castelli?” asked Marynia. 

“They have much imagination,” answered Zavilovski, 
after a moment’s hesitation. ‘* Have you noticed how easy 
it is for them to speak in images?” 

“But really, what an interesting young lady Lineta is! ” 

Lineta had not made a great impression on Pan Stanislav ; 
besides, he was hungry and in a hurry for dinner, so he said 
somewhat impatiently, — 

“What do you see in her? Interesting until she becomes 
an every-day subject.” 

“No; Lineta will not become an every-day person,” said 
Marynia. ‘Only those ordinary, simple beings become 
every-day subjects who know how to do nothing but love.” 

To Zavilovski, who looked at her that moment, it seemed 
that he detected a shade of sadness. Perhaps, too, she was 
weak, for her face had lily tones. 

“ Are you wearied ?” inquired he. 

“ A little,” answered she, smiling. 

His young, impressionable heart beat with great sympathy 
for her. “She is in truth a lily,” thought he; and in com- 
parison with her sweet charm Pani Osnovski stood before 
him as a chattering nut-cracker, and Panna Castelli as the 
inanimate head of astatue. At first, after sight of Marynia, 
he was dreaming of a woman like her; this evening he be- 
gan to dream, not of one like her, but of her. And since he 
was quickly aware of everything that happened in him, 
he noticed that she was beginning to be a “ field flower,” 
but a beloved one. 

Pan Stanislav, meeting him next day in the counting-room, 
asked, — 

24 


370 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“Well, did the dreamy queen come to you in a vision ?? 


“No,” answered Zavilovski, blushing. i 
Pan Stanislav, seeing that blush, laughed, and said, — 


“Ha! it’s difficult! Every one must pass that; I, toc 


have passed it.” 


i, > - 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 371 


CHAPTER XLI. 


Marynia did not complain even to herself of her hus- 
band. So far there had not been the least misunderstanding 
between them. But she was forced to confess that genuine, 
very great happiness, and especially very great love, such 
as she had imagined when Pan Stanislav was her betrothed, 
she had imagined as different. Of this each day convinced 
her: her hopes had been of one kind; reality proved to be 
of another. Marynia’s honest nature did not rebel against 
this reality; but a shade of sadness came over her, and the 
feeling that that shade might in time be the basis of her 
life. With a soul full of good-will, she tried to explain to 
herself at the beginning that those were her own fancies. 
What was lacking to her, and in what could Pan Stanislav 
have disappointed her? He had never caused her pain 
purposely; as often as it occurred to him that a given thing 
might please her, he tried to obtain it; he was liberal, 
careful of her health; at times he covered her face and 
hands with kisses, —in a word, he was rather kind than 
ill-natured. Still there was something lacking. It was 
difficult for Marynia to describe this in one word, or in 
many; but her mind was too clear not to understand what 
her heart felt every day more distinctly, every day with 
more sadness. Something was wanting! After a great 
and solemn holiday of love, a series of common days had 
set in, and she regretted the holiday; she would have it 
last all her life; she saw now, with sorrow, that to her 
husband this common life seemed precisely what was 
normal and wished for. It was not bad, such as it was; 
but it was not that high happiness which “such a man” 
should be able to feel, create, and impart. But there was 
a question of other things also. She felt, for example, 
that she was more his than he was hers; and that though 
she gave him her whole soul, he returned to her only that 
part of his which he had designed in advance for home 
use. It is true that she said to herself, ‘‘He is a man; 
besides me he has a whole world of work and thought.” 
But she had hoped once that he would take her by the hand 
and lead her into that world, —that in the house, at least, 


$72 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 



























he would share it with her; at present she could not even 
flatter herself that he would do so. And the reality was 
worse than she had imagined. Pan Stanislay, as he ex- 
pressed himself, took her, and had her; and when their 
mutual feeling became at the same time a simple mutual 
obligation, he judged that it was not needful otherwise to 
care for her, or otherwise to be occupied with her than 
with any duty of é¢very-day life. It did not come to his 
head simply that to such a fire it was not enough to brin 
common fuel, such as is put in a chimney, but that there 
was need to sprinkle on it frankincense and myrrh, such 
as is sprinkled before an altar. If a man were to tell him 
something like this, he would shrug his shoulders, and 
look on him as a sentimentalist. Hence there was in him 
the carefulness of a husbaud, perhaps, but not the anxiety 
of a lover, — concern, watching, or awe of that kind 
which, in the lower circles of earthly feelings, corresponds 
to fear of God in religion. On a time when, after the 
sale of Kremen, Marynia was indifferent to him, he felt 
and passed through all this; but now, and even beginning 
with Litka’s death, when he received the assurance that 
she was his property, he thought no more of her than was 
necessary to think of property. His feeling, resting pre- 
eminently on her physical charm, possessed what it wanted 
and was at rest; while time could only vulgarize, cool, an 
dull it. 

Even now, though still vivid, it lacks the alert and 
careful tenderness which existed, for example, in his feel- 
ing for Litka. And Marynia noticed this. Why was it 
so? ‘To this she could not answer; but still she saw 
clearly that she was for this man, to whom she wished to 
be everything, something more common and less esteemed 
than the dead Litka. 

It did not occur to her, and she could not imagine by 
any means, that the only reason was this, —that that child 
was not his, while she had given him soul and body. 
She judged that the more she gave, the more she ought to 
receive and have. But time brought her in this regaré 
many disappointments. She could not but notice, too, that 
all are under a certain charm of hers; that all value her, 
praise her; that Svirski, Bigiel, Zavilovski, and even Pat 
Osnovski, look on her, not only with admiration, but with 
enthusiasm almost; while “Stas” regards her distinguish. 
ing traits less than any man. It had not occurred to her fo 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL 373 


a moment that he could be incapable of seeing in her and 
valuing that which others saw and valued so easily. What 
was the cause, then, of this? These questions tormented 
her night and day now. She saw that Pan Stanislav 
feigned to have in all cases a character somewhat colder 
and more serious than he had in reality, but to her this did 
not seem a sufficient answer. Unfortunately only one 
answer remained: “ He does not love me as he might, and 
therefore does not value me as others do.” ‘There was in 
this as much truth as disappointment and sadness, 

The instinct of a woman, which, in these cases, never 
deceives her, warned Marynia that she had made an un- 
common impression on Zavilovski; that that impression 
increased with every meeting. And this thought did not 
make her indignant; she did not burst out with the angry 
question, “How dare he?” since, for that matter, he had 
not dared anything, —on the contrary, it gave her a certain 
comfort, certain confidence in her own charm, which at 
moments she had begun to lose, but withal it roused the 
greater sorrow that such honor, such enthusiasm, should be 
shown her by some stranger, and not by ‘‘Stas.” As to 
Zavilovski, she felt nothing for him save a great sympathy 
and good-will; hence her thoughts remained pure. She 
was incapable of amusing herself through vanity by the 
suffering of another; and for that reason, not wishing him 
to go too far, she associated herself willingly with the 
plan of Pani Aneta of bringing him into more intimate 
relations with Panna Castelli, though that plan seemed to 
her as abrupt as it was unintelligible. Moreover, her heart 
and mind were occupied thoroughly with the questions: 
Why does that kind, wise, beloved ‘‘Stas” not go to the 
heights with her? why does he not value her as he might? 
why does he only love her, but is not in love with her? 
why does he consider her love as something belonging to 
him, but not as something precious? whence is this, and 
where lies the cause of it? 

Every common, selfish nature would have found all the 
fault in him; Marynia found it in herself. It is true that 
she made the discovery through foreign aid; but she was 
always so eager to remove from ‘‘Stas” every respon- 
sibility, and take it on herself, that though it caused fear, 
this discovery brought her delight almost. 

Once, on an afternoon, she was sitting by herself, with 
her hands on her knees, lost in thoughts and questions 


374 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 




















to which she could find no answer, when the door opened, 
and in it appeared the white head-dress and dark robe of 
a Sister of Charity. 

“Emilka!” cried Marynia, with delight. 

“Yes; it is I,” said the Sister. “This is a free day 
for me, and I wished to visit thee. Where is Pan Stan-— 
islav?” 

**Stas is at the Mashkos, but he will return soon. Ah, ~ 
how glad he will be! Sit down and rest.” 
Pani Emilia sat down and began to talk. ‘‘I should run 
in oftener,” said she, ‘‘but I have no time. Since this is 
a tree day, I was at Litka’s. If you could see how green 

the place is, and what birds are there!” 

“We were there a few days ago. All is blooming; and 
such rest! What a pity that Stas is not at home!” 

“True; besides, he has a number of Litka’s letters. 
T should like to ask him to lend them to me. Next week 
I’ll run in again and return them.” 

Pani Emilia spoke calmly of Litka now. Maybe it was 
because there remained of herself only the shadow of a 
living person, which was soon to be blown away; but for 
the time there was in it undisturbed calm. Her mind was- 
not absorbed so exclusively now by misfortune, and that 
previous indifference to everything not Litka had passed. 
Having become a Sister of Charity, she appeared again 
among people, and had learned to feel everything which 
made their fortune or misfortune, their joy or their sorrow, 
or even pleasure or suffering. 

“But how nice it is in this house! After our naked 
walls, everything here seems so rich to me. Pan Stanislav 
was very indolent at one time: he visited the Bigiels and 
us, never wished to be elsewhere; but now I suppose he 
bestirs himself, and you receive many people?” 

“No,” answered Marynia; “we visit only the Mashkos, 
Pani Bronich, and the Osnovskis.” 

“But wait! I know Pani Osnovski; I knew her befo 
she was married. I knew the Broniches, too, and the 
niece; but she had not grown up then. Pan Bronich di 
two years ago. Thou seest how I know every one.” 

Marynia began to laugh. “Really, more people than I 
do. I made the acquaintance of the Osnovskis in Rom 
only.” 

“But I lived so many years in Warsaw, and everythin 
came to my ears. I was in the house apparently, 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 875 


the world occupied me. So frivolous was I in those 
days! For that matter, thy present Pan Stas knew Pani 
Osnovski.” 

‘*He told me so.” 

“They met at public balls. At that time she was to 
marry Pan Kopovski. ‘There were tears and despair, for 
her father opposed it. But she succeeded well, did she 
not? Pan Osnovski was always a very good man.” 

“And to her he is the very best. But 1 did not know 
that she was to marry Kopovski; and that astonishes me, 
she is so intelligent.” 

“Praise to God, she is happy, if she would think so! 
Happiness is a rare thing, and should be used well. I 
have learned now to look at the world quite impartially, 
as only those can who expect nothing for themselves from 
it; and knowest thou what comes more than once to my 
head? ‘That happiness is hke eyes, —any little mote, and 
at once tears will follow.” 

Marynia laughed a little sadly, and said, — 

“Oi! that’s a great truth.” 

A moment of silence ensued; then Pani Emilia, looking 
attentively at Marynia, laid her transparent hand on her 
hand mildly, and asked, — 

“But thou, Marynia, art happy, art thou not?” 

Such a desire to weep seized Marynia on a sudden that 
she resisted it only with the utmost effort; that lasted, 
however, one twinkle. Her whole honest soul trembled 
suddenly at the thought that her tears or sorrow would be 
a kind of complaint against her husband; therefore she 
mastered her emotion by strength of will, and said, — 

“Tf only Stas is happy!” And she raised her eyes, now 
perfectly calm, to Pani Emilia, who said, — 

“Titka will obtain that for thee. I inquired only because 
thou wert in appearance somehow gloomy, as I entered. 
But I know best how he loved thee, and how unhappy he 
was when thou wert angry with him because of Kremen.” 

Marynia’s face was bright with a smile. So pleasant to 
her was every word of his former love that she was ready 
to listen to that kind of narrative, even if it went on 
forever. 

Pani Emilia continued, while touching her hand: “But 
thov, ugly child, wert so cruel as neither to value nor 
regard his true attachment, and I was angry at times 
with thee. At times I feared for the honest Pan Stanislav; 


376 CHILDREN OF THE SOIU. 


I was afraid that he would grow sick of life, lose his mind, 
or become misanthropic. For seest thou when one wrinkle 
is made in the depth of the heart, it may not be smoothed 
for a lifetime.” 

Marynia raised her head, and began to blink as if some 
light had struck her eyes suddenly. 

“Emilka, Emilka!” cried she, “how wise thy discourse 
is!” 

Pani Emilia was called now ‘‘Sister Aniela;” but Ma- 
rynia always gave her her old name. 

‘“What! wise? I am just talking of old times. But 
Litka will implore for thee happiness, which God will 
grant, for thou and Stas deserve it, both of you.” 

And she made ready to go. Marynia tried to detain her 
till “Stas” came, but in vain, for work was awaiting her 
in the institution. She chatted, however, at the door, 
fifteen minutes longer, in the manner of women; at last she 
went away, promising to visit them again the coming 
week. 

Marynia returned to her armchair at the window, and, 
resting her head on her hand, fell to meditating on Pani 
- Emilia’s words; after a while she said, in an undertone, — 

“The fault is mine.” 

It seemed to her that she had the key to the enigma, — 
she had not known how to respect a power so true and so 
mighty as love is. And now, in her terrified heart, that 
love seemed a kind of offended divinity which punishes. 
In the old time Pan Stanislav had been on his knees in 
her presence. As often as they met, he had looked into 
her eyes, watching for forgiveness from her heart, and 
from those memories, pleasant, departed, but dear, which 
connected them. If at that time she had brought herself to 
straightforwardness, to magnanimity; if she had extended 
her hands to him, as her secret feeling commanded, — he 
would have been grateful all his life, he would have 
honored her, he would have honored and loved with the 
greater tenderness, the more he felt his own fault and her 
goodness. Butshe had preferred to swaddle and nurse her 
feeling of offence, and coquet at the same time with Mashko. 
When it was necessary to forget, she would not forget; 
when it was necessary to forgive, she would not forgive. 
She preferred to suffer herself, provided he suffered also. 
She had given her hand to Pan Stanislav when she could | 
not do otherwise, when not to give it would have been 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 877 


simply dishonorable and stupid stubbornness. That stifled 
love, it is true, rose up in its whole irrepressible might 
then, and she loved, heart and soul, but too late. Love 
had been injured; something had broken, something had 
perished. In his heart there had come an ill-omened 
wrinkle like that of which Pani Emilia had spoken; and 
now she, Marynia, was harvesting only what she had sown 
with her own hand, 

He is not guilty of anything in this case, and if any one 
has spoiled another’s life, it is not he who has spoiled her 
life; it is she who has spoiled his. 

Such a terror possessed her at this thought, and such 
sorrow, that for a moment she looked at the future with 
perfect amazement. And she wished to weep, too, and 
weep like a little child. If Pani Emilia had not gone, she 
would have done so on her shoulder. She was so pene- 
trated with the weight of her own offences that if at that 
moment some one had come and tried to free her of this 
weight, if this one had said to her, ‘*’Thou art as guilty as 
a dove,” she would have considered the speech dishonest. 
The most terrible point in her mental conflict was this, — 
that at the first moment the loss seemed irreparable, and 
that in the future it might be only worse and worse, because 
“Stas” would love her less and less, and would have the 
right to love her less and less, —in one word, she saw no 
consolation before her. 

Logie said this to her: “To-day it is good in comparison 
with what it may be to-morrow; after to-morrow, a month, 
orayear. And here it is a question of a lifetime!” 

And she began to exert her poor tortured head to dis- 
cover, if not a road, at least some path, by which it would 
be possible to issue from those snares of unhappiness. At 
last, after a long effort, after God knows how many swal- 
lowed tears, it seems to her that she sees a light, and that 
that light, in proportion as she looks at it, increases. 

There is, however, something mightier than the logic of 
misfortune, mightier than committed offences, mightier 
than an offended divinity, which knows nothing but ven- 
geance, —and this is the merey of God. 

She has offended; therefore she ought to correct herself. 
It is needful, then, to love “Stas,” so that he may find 
all which has perished in his heart; it is needful to have 
patience, and not only not to complain of her present lot, 
but to thank God and “Stas” that it is such as it is. If 


378 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 

















greater griefs and difficulties should come, it is necessary 
to hide them in her heart in silence, and endure long, very” 
long, even whole years, till the mercy of God comes. ; 
The path began to change then into a highway. “I 
shall not go astray,” said Marynia to herself. She wanted 
to weep from great joy then; but she judged that she could 
not permit that. Besides, “Stas” might return at any 
moment, and he must find her with dry eyes. 
In fact, he returned soon. Marynia wished at the first 
moment to throw herself on his neck, but she felt such 
guilt in reference to him that some sudden timidity stopped 
her; and he, kissing her on the forehead, inquired, — 
“Was any one here?” 
“Emilia was, but she could not stay longer. She will 
come next week.” 
He was irritated at this. 
“But, my God! thou knowest that it is such a pleasure 
for me to see her; why not let me know? Why didst thou — 
not think of me, knowing where I was?” 
She, like a child explaining itself, spoke with a voice in 
which tears were trembling, but in which there was at the 
same time a certain trust, — 
“No, Stas, on the contrary, as I love, I was thinking 
all the time of thee.” ; 














CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 879 


CHAPTER XLII. 


“Bur you see I was there,” said Zavilovski, joyously, at 
the Bigiels’. “They looked on me somewhat as they might 
on a panther, or a wolf, but I turned out a very tame 
ereature; I tore no one, killed no one, answered with more 
or less presence of mind. No; I have long since considered 
that it is easier to live with people than it seems, and only 
in the first moments have I a wish always to run away. 
But those ladies are indeed very free.” 

“T beg you not to put us off, but tell exactly how it 
was,” said Pani Bigiel. 

“How it was? Well, first, I entered the inclosure of 
the villa, and did not know what to do further, or where 
the Osnovskis lived, or Pani Bronich; whether to pay 
them a visit at once, or whether it was necessary to visit 
both separately.” 

“Separately,” said Pan Stanislav; “Pani Bronich has 
separate apartments, though they have one drawing-room, 
which they use in common.” 

“Well, I found all in that drawing-room; and Pani 
Osnoyvski first brought me out of tronble, for she said that 
she would share me with Pani Bronich, and that I should 
make two visits at one time. I found Pani Mashko there 
and Pan Kopovski; and he is such a man, so beautiful 
that he ought to have on his head one of those velvet- 
crowned caps which jewellers wear. Who is Kopovski?” 

“An idiot!” answered Pan Stanislav. “In that is con- 
tained his name, his manner of life, his occupation, and 
personal marks. Another description of the man would 
not be needed even in a passport.” 

“Now I understand,” said Zavilovski; ‘‘and certain 
words which I heard have become clear for me. That 
gentleman was sitting, and the young ladies were painting 
him. Pani Osnovski, his full face in oil; Panna Castelli, 
his profile in water-colors. Both had print skirts over 
their dresses, and both were beautiful. Evidently Pani 
Osnovski is just beginning to paint, but Panna Castelli has 
had much practice.” 

“Of what did they talk?” 


380 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Zavilovski turned to Marynia. “ First, those ladies asked 
about your health; I told them that you looked better and © 
better.” 

He did not say, however, that on that occasion he had 
blushed like a student, and that at present he consoled — 
himself only with the thought that all had been so oceupied 
in painting that they did not notice him, in which he was 
mistaken. He was confused now a little, and, wishing to 
hide this, continued, — 

“Later we spoke of painting, of course, and portraits. 
I observed that Panna Castelli took something from the 
head of Kopovski; she answered me, — 

“ «Tt is not I, but nature.’ 

“She is a witty young lady; she said this in a perfectly 
audible voice. I began to laugh, all the others too, and 
with us Kopovski himself. He must have an accommodat- 
ing character. He declared later on that if he looked worse 
to-day than usual, it was because he had not slept enough, 
and that he was in a hurry for the embraces of Orpheus.” 

“Orpheus?” 

“That’s what he said. Pan Osnovski corrected him 
without ceremony; but he did not agree to the correction, 
saying Orpheus at least ten times, and that he remem- 
bered well. Those ladies amused themselves a little with 
him, but he is such a fine-looking fellow that they are 
glad to paint him. But what an artist Panna Castelli is! 
When she went to showing me various plain surfaces with 
‘the brush, and lines on the portraits of Pan Kopovski, 
which she had begun, she touched colors, ‘ What a line 
that is! and what tones these are!’ I must do her the 
justice to say that she looked at the time like one of the 
Muses. She told me that it pleases her beyond everything 
to paint portraits, and that she meditates on a face to — 
begin with, as on a model, and that she dreams of those 
heads in which there is anything uncommon.” 

“Oh, ho ! and you will appear to her in a dream first, 
and then sit for her, I am sure,” said Marynia. “And 
that will be well.” 

Zavilovski added with a voice somewhat uncertain, — 

“She told me, it is true, that. that is a tribute which she 
likes and extorts from good aequaintances; she did not 
turn to me, however, directly, with this request. Had it 
not been for Pani Bronich, there would have been no talk 
of it.” 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 881 


“Pani Bronich saved the Muse the trouble,” said Pan 
Stanislav. 

“But that will be well,” said Marynia. 

“Why?” inquired Zavilovski; and he looked at her with 
a glance at once submissive and alarmed. The idea that 
She might push him to another woman purposely, because 
she divined what was passing in his heart, attracted him, 
. and at the same time filled him with fear. 

“Because,” answered Marynia, “I, indeed, am almost 
unacquainted with Panna Lineta, and judge only from my 
first impressions and from what I hear of her; but it seems 
to me that hers is an uncommon nature, and that there is 
something deep in her heart. It is well, then, that you 
should become acquainted.” 

“T also judge from first impressions,” answered Zavi- 
loyski, quieted; “and it is true that Pani Castelli seems to 
me less shallow than Pani Osnovski. In general, those 
are beautiful and pleasant ladies; but — maybe I cannot de- 
fine it, because I am not acquainted enough with society — 
but, coming away from them, | had a feeling as if I had 
been travelling on the railway with exceedingly charming 
foreign ladies, who amused themselves by conversing very 
wittily — but nothing more. Something foreign is felt in 
them. Pani Osnovski, for example, is exactly lke an 
orchid, —a flower very peculiar and beautiful, but a kind 
of foreign flower. Panna Castelli is also that way, and in 
her there is nothing homelike. With them there is no 
feeling that one grew up on the same field, under the same 
rain and same sunshine.” 

“What intuition this poet has!” said Pan Stanislav. 

Zavilovski became so animated that on his delicate fore- 
head the veins in the form of the letter Y became outlined 
more distinctly. He felt that his blame of those ladies was 
also praise for Marynia, and that made him eloquent. 

* Besides,” continued he, “there exists a certain instinet 
which divines the real good wishes of people; it is not 
divined in that house. They are pleasant, agreeable, but 
their society has the appearance of form only; therefore IL 
think that an earnest man, who becomes attached to people 
easily, might experience there many deceptions. It is a 
bitter and humiliating thing to mistake social tares for 
wheat. As to me, that is just why | fear people; for 
though Pan Stanislav says that I have intuition, I know 
well that at the root of the matter I am simple. And 


382 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


such things pain me tremendously. Simply my nerves 
cannot endure them. I remember that when still a child 
I noticed how people acted toward me in one way before 
my parents, and in another when my parents were absent; 
that was one of the great vexations of my childhood. It 
seemed to me contemptible, and pained me, as if I myself 
had done something contemptible.” 

‘*Because you have an honest nature,” said Pani Bigiel. 

He stretched forth his long arms, with which he gestieu- 
lated, when, forgetting his timidity, he spoke freely, and 
said, — 

“Q sincerity ! in art and in life, that is the one thing!” 

But Marynia began, in defence of those ladies: “ People, 
and especially men, are frequently unjust, and take their 
own judgments, or even suppositions, for reality. As to 
Pani Osnovski and Lineta, how is it possible to suspect 
them of insincerity? They are joyful, kind, cordial, and 
whence should that come if not from good hearts?” 
Then, turning to Zavilovski, she began at him, partly in 
earnest, partly in jest, “ You have not such an honest 
nature as Pani Bigiel says, for those ladies praise you, and 
you criticise them —” 

But Pan Stanislav interrupted her with his usual vivac- 
ity: “Oh, thou art an innocent, and measurest all things 
with thy own measure. Wilt thou understand this, that 
petty cordiality and kindness may flow also from selfish- 
ness, which likes to be cosey and comfortable. 

“Tf you,” said he, turning to Zavilovski, “pay such 
homage to sincerity, it is sitting before you! You have 
here a real type of it.” 

“T know that! I know that!” said Zavilovski, with 
warmth. 

“But is it thy wish to have me otherwise?” inquired 
Marynia, laughing. 

He laughed also, and answered: “No, I would not. 
But, by the way, what a happiness it is that thou art not too 
small, and hast no need of heels; for shouldst thou wear 
them, chronic inflammation of the conscience would strike 
thee for deceiving people.” 

Marynia, seeing that Zavilovski’s eyes were turned tow- 
ard ber feet, hid them under the table involuntarily, and, 
changing the subject, said, — 

“But your volume is coming out these days, I think ? ” 

“Tt would have been published already, but I added one 
poem; that causes delay.” 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 383 


“And may we know what the poem is called ?” 

“Lilia” (Lily). 

“Ts it not Lilia-Lineta ?” 

“No; it is not Lilia-Lineta.” 

Marynia’s face grew serious. For her, it was easy to 
divine from the answer that the poem was to her and 
about her; hence she felt a sudden vexation, because she 
alone and one other, Zavilovski, knew this, and that 
there had arisen between them, for this cause, a sort of 
secret known to them only. This seemed to her not in 
accord with that honesty of hers mentioned a moment 
earlier, and a kind of sin against “Stas.” For the first 
time, she saw the mental trouble into which a woman may 
fall, even though she be most in love with her husband 
and most innocent, if only the not indifferent look of an- 
other man fall on her. It seemed to her impossible, in 
any case, to lead her husband into the secret of her suppo- 
sition. For the first time, she was seized by a certain 
anger at Zavilovski, who felt this straightway with his 
nerves of an artist, just as the barometer reflects a change 
of atmosphere; and, being a man without experience, he 
took the matter tragically. He imagined that Marynia 
would close her doors on him, would hate him, that he 
would not be able to see her; and the world appeared in 
mourning colors all at once to him. In his artistic nature 
there existed a real mixture of selfishness and fantasy with 
genuine tenderness, well-nigh feminine, which demanded 
love and warmth. Having become acquainted with Marynia, 
he cleaved to her with the selfishness of a sybarite, to 
whom such a feeling is precious, and who thinks of nothing 
else; next, his fancy raised her to poetic heights, and 
enhanced her charm a hundredfold, made her a being al- 
most beyond the earth; and, finally, his native sensitive- 
ness, to which loneliness and the want of a near heart 
caused actual pain, was so moved by the goodness with 
which he was received, that from all this was produced 
something having every appearance of love. A physical 
basis was lacking to this feeling, however. Besides his 
capacity for impulses, as ideal as the soul itself is, Zavi- 
lovski, like most artists, had the thoughts of a satyr. 
Those thoughts were sleeping at that time. He arrayed 
Marynia in so many glories and so much sacredness that 
he did not desire her; and if, against every likelihood, she 
were to cast herself on his neck unexpectedly, she would 






















384 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


cease to be for him esthetically that which she was, and 
which he wished her to be in future,— that is, a stainless 
being. All the more, therefore, did he judge that he could 
permit himself such a feeling, and all the more was he 
grieved now to part with that intoxication which had lulled 
his thought in such a beautiful manner, and filled the void 
of his life. It had been so pleasant for him, on returning 
home, to have a womanly figure at whose feet he had placed 
his soul, —to have one of whom to dream, and to whom he 
might write verses. Now he understands that if she dis- 
covers definitely what is taking place in him, if he does not 
succeed in hiding this better than hitherto, their relations 
cannot endure, and the former void, more painful than 
ever, will surround him a second time. He began then 
to think how he was to escape this, and how, not only not 
to lose anything of what he had enjoyed so far, but to 
see Marynia still oftener. In his quick imagination, there | 
was no lack of methods. When he had made a hasty 
review, he found and chose one which, as it seemed to him, 
Jed directly to his object. 

“‘T will fall in love, as it were, with Panna Castelli,” said — 
he to himself, ‘‘and will confess to Pani Polanyetski my 
torments. That not only will not separate us, but will 
bring us nearer. I will make her my patroness.” 

And straightway he begins to arrange the thing as if he 
were arranging objects. He imagines that he is in love 
with that “dreamy queen;” that he is unhappy, and that 
he will confess his secret to Marynia, who will listen to 
him willingly, with eyes moist from pity, and, like a real 
sister, will place her hand on his head. ‘This play of faney 
seemed to him so actual, and his sensitiveness was so great, 
that he composed expressions with which he would confess 
to Marynia; he found simple and touching ones, and he 
did this with such occupation that he himself was moved 
sincerely. 

Marynia, returning home with her husband, thought of 
that poem entitled “ Lilia,” which had delayed the issue of 
the book. Like a real woman, she was somewhat curious 
about it, and feared it a little. She feared too in general 
the difficulty which the future might bring in the relation 
with Zavilovski. And under the influence of these fears 
she said, — 

“Knowest thou of what I am thinking? That Lineta 
would be a great prize for Zavilovski.” 3 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 385 


“Tell me,” answered Pan Stanislav, “ what shot this Zavi- 
lovski and that girl into thy head.” 

“T, my Stas, am not a matchmaker, I say only that it 
would not be bad. Aneta Osnovski is rather a hot head, 
it is true; but she is so lively, such a fire spark.” 

“Abrupt, not lively; but believe me that she is not so 
simple as she seems, and that she has her own little per- 
sonal plan in everything. Sometimes I think that Panna 
Lineta concerns her as much as she does me, and that at 
the root of all this something else is hidden.” 

“ What could it be?” 

“T don’t know, and I don’t know, perhaps, because I don’t 
eare much. In general, I have no faith in those women.” 

Their conversation was interrupted by Mashko, who was 
just driving in by the road before their house; and, seeing 
them, he hastened to greet Marynia, and said then to Pan 
Stanislav, — 

“Tt is well that we have met, for to-morrow I am going 
away for a couple of days, and to-day is my time for pay- 
ment, so I bring thee the money.” 

“J have just been at your father’s,” said he, turning to 
Marynia. “Pan Plavitski seems in perfect health; but he 
told me that he yearns for the country and land manage- 
ment, therefore he is thinking whether to buy some little 
place near the city, or not. I told him that if we win the 
will case he can stay at Ploshov.” 

Marynia did not like this conversation, in which there 
was evident, moreover, a slight irony ; hence she did not 
wish to continue it. After a while Pan Stanislav took 
Mashko to his study, — 

“Then is all going well?” asked he. 

“Here is the instalment due on my debt,” answered 
Mashko; “be so kind as to give a receipt.” 

Pan Stanislav sat down at his desk, and wrote a receipt. 

“But now there is another affair,’ continued Mashko: 
“T sold some oak in Kremen once, on condition that I 
_might redeem it, returning the price and a stipulated in- 
terest. Here is the price and the interest. I trust that 
thou hast nothing to add; I can only thank thee for a 
real service rendered, and shouldst thou ever need some- 
thing of me, I beg thee, — without any ceremony, I beg 
thee to come to me, service for service. As is known to 
thee, I like to be grateful.” 

“This monkey is beginning to patronize me,” thought 

25 


386 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 
























Pan Stanislav. And if he had not been in his own house, 
he might have uttered the silent remark aloud; but he 
restrained himself and said, — 

“T have nothing to add; such was the contract. Be- 
sides, I have never considered that as business.” 7 

“ All the more do I esteem it,” answered Mashko, kindly. 

“ Well, what is to be heard in general ?” inquired Pan 
Stanislav. “Thou art moving with all sails, I see. How 
is it with the will ? ” 

“On behalf of the benevolent institutions a young little 
advocate is appearing named Sledz (herring). A nice 
name, isn’t it? If I should call a cat by that name, she 
would miau for three days. But I’ll pepper that herring 
and eat him. As to the lawsuit? It stands this way, | 
that at the end of it I shall be able to withdraw from law 
in all likelihood, which, moreover, is not an occupation be- 
fitting me — and I will settle in Kremen permanently.” 

“ With ready money in thy pocket ?” 

‘“‘With ready money in my pocket, and in plenty. I 
have enough of law. Of course, whoso came from the — 
country is drawn to it. That is inherited with the blood. 
But enough of this matter, for the present. To-morrow, 
as I told thee, I am going away; and I recommend my wife 
to thee, all the more that Pani Kraslavski has gone just 
now to an oculist in Vienna. I am going besides to the 
Osnoyskis’ to ask them too to remember her.” 

“ Of course we shall think of her,” said Pan Stanislay. 
Then the conversation with Marynia occurred to him, and 
he asked, — 

“Thy acquaintance with the Osnovskis is of long 
standing ?” 

“Rather long, though my wife knows them _ better. 
He is a very rich man; he had one sister who died, anda 
miserly uncle, after whom he received a great fortune. As 
to her, what shall I say tothee ? she read when still unmar- 
ried all that came to her hand; she had pretensions to wit, 
to art, —in a word, to everything to which one may pre- 
tend, — and in her way fell in love with Kopovski: here 
she is for thee in toto.” 

“ And Pani Bronich and Panna Castelli ? ” 

“Panna Castelli pleases women rather than men; more- 
over, I know nothing of her, except that it is said 
this same Kopovski tried for her, or is trying now, 
Pani Bronich —” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 887 


Here Mashko began to laugh. “Pani Bronich the Khe- 
dive conducted in person over the pyramid of Cheops; the 
late Alphonso of Spain said every day to her in Cannes, 

‘Bon jour, Madame la Comtesse.’ In the year 56, Musset 
wrote verses in her album, and Moltke sat with her ona 
trunk in Karlsbad,— in one word, she has been at every 
coronation. Now, since Panni Castelli has grown up, or 
rather luxuriated up to five feet and some inches, Aunt 
‘Sweetness? makes those imaginary journeys, not on her 
own account, but her niece’s, in which for some time past 
Pani Osnovski helps her so zealously that it is difficult to 
understand what her object is. This is all, unless it is 
thy wish to know something of the late Pan Bronich, who 
died six years ago, it is unknown of what disease, for Pani 
Bronich finds a new one every day for him, adding, besides, 
that he was the last of the descendants of Rurik, not stat- 
ing, however, that the second last descendant — that is, his 
father — was manager for the Rdultovskis, and made his 
property out of them. Well, I have finished, — ‘ Vanity 
fair!’ Be well, keep well, and in case of need count on me. 
IfI were sure that such a need would come quickly, I would 
make thee promise to turn to no one but me. Till we 
meet !” 

When he had said this, Mashko pressed his friend’s hand 
with indescribable kindness; and when he had gone, 
Pan Stanislav, shrugging his shoulders, said, —. 

“Such a clever man apparently, and doesn’t see the 
very same vanity in himself that he is laughing at in 
others! How different he was such a little while ago! He 
had almost ceased to pretend; but when trouble passed, the 
devil gained the upper hand.” 

Here he remembered what Vaskovski had said once 
about vanity and playing a comedy ; then he thought, — 

«“ And still such people have success in this country.” 


388 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER XLITI. 


Pant Osnovski forgot her “ Florentine-Roman ” even- 
ings so thoroughly that she was astonished when her hus- 
band reminded her once of them. Such evenings are not 
even in her head now; she has other occupations, which 
she calls “taming the eagle.” If any one does not see that 
the eagle and Lineta are created for each other, then, with 
permission of my husband and lord, he has very short 
sight; but there is no help for that. In general, men fail 
to understand many things, for they lack perception. 
Zavilovski may be an exception in this regard; but if Ma- 
rynia Polanyetski would tell him, through friendship, to 
dress with more care and let his beard grow, it would be 
perfect! ‘“Castelka”? is so thoroughly esthetic that the 
least thing offends her, though on the other hand he ear- 
ries her away,—nay, more, he hypnotizes her simply. 
And with her nature that is not wonderful. 

Pan Osnovski listened to this chattering, and, dissolving 
from ecstasy, watched the opportunity to seize his wife’s 
hands, and cover them, and her arms to the elbow, with 
kisses ; once, however, he put the perfectly natural ques- 
tion, which Pan Stanislav too had put to Marynia, — 

“Tell me what concern thou hast in this ?” 

But Pani Aneta said coquettishly, — 

“La reine samuse! It is not a trick to write books. 
If there be only a little talent, that’s enough; but to bring 
into life that which is described in books is a far greater 
trick, and, besides, what amusement! ” 

And after a while she added, — 

“T may have some personal object; and if I have, let 
Yozio guess it.” 

“T’ll tell it in thy ear,” answered Osnovski. 

She put out her ear with a cunning mien, blinking her 
violet eyes with curiosity. But Osnovski only brought his 
lips to her ear to kiss it; for the whole secret he repeated 
simply, — 

“La reine s’amuse !” 

1 Familiar for Castelli. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. B8Y 


And there was truth in this. Pani Aneta might have 
her own personal object in bringing Zavilovski near 

Castelka;” but in its own way that development of a 
romance in life and the rdle of a little Providence occupied 
and amused her immensely. 

With these providential intentions she ran in often to 
Marynia, to learn something of the “eagle,” and returned 
in good spirits usually. Zavilovski, wishing to lull 
Marynia’s suspicions, spoke more and more of Lineta; his 
diplomacy turned out so effectual that once, when Pani 
Aneta inquired of Marynia directly if Zavilovski were not 
in love with her, she answered, laughing, — 

“We must confess that he is in love, my Anetka, but not 
with me, nor with thee. The apple is adjudged to Lineta, 
and nothing is left to us but to ery or be comforted.” 

On the other hand, feelings and thoughts were talked 
into and attributed continually to Lineta which self-love 
itself would not let her deny. From morning till evening 
she heard that this “eagle” of wide wings was in love 
with her; that he was at her feet; and that such a chosen 
one, such an exceptional being, as she was, could not be 
indifferent to this. It flattered her also too much to make 
it possible for her to be indifferent. While painting 
Kopovski, she admired always, it is true, the “splendid 
plain surfaces” on his face, and liked him because he 
offered her a field for various successes, which were repeated 
later as proofs of her wit and cleverness; she liked him 
for various reasons. Zavilovski, too, was not an ill-looking 
man, though he did not wear a beard, and did not dress 
with due care. Besides, so much was said of his wings, 
and of this, —that a soul such as hers should understand 
him. All said this, not Pani Aneta only. Pani Bronich, 
who, ona time, did not understand how any one could avoid 
falling in love with herself, transferred later on to her 
niece this happy self-confidence, and accepted the views 
of Pani Aneta, ornamenting at the same time the canvas 
of reality with flowers from her own mind. At last Pan 
Osnovski, too, joined the chorus. Out of love for his wife, 
he loved “Castelka” and Pani Bronich, and was ready to 
love whatever had remote or near relation to “ Anetka,” 
hence he took the matter seriously. Zavilovski was for 
him sympathetic; the information which he collected touch- 
ing him was favorable. In general, he learned only that 
he was misanthropic, ambitious, and pursued stubbornly 


390 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


whatever he aimed at; besides, he was secretive, and 
greatly gifted. Since all this pleased the ladies, Osnovski 
began to think with perfect seriousness “if that were not 
well.” Zavilovski justitied so far the serious view of af- 
fairs,— he had begun for some time to visit more frequently 
the “common drawing-room,” and to speak oftener with 
Lineta. The first, it is true, he did always at the cordial 
invitation of Pani Aneta, but the other flowed from his 
will. Pani Aneta noticed, also, that his glance rested 
more and more on the golden hair and the dreamy lids of 
“Castelka,” and his eyes followed her when she passed 
through the drawing-room. Indeed, he began to survey 
her more carefully, a little through diplomacy, a little 
through curiosity. 

The affair became much more important when the first 
volume of his poetry was issued. The poems had won 
attention already and were much spoken of; but the effect 
was weakened through this, —that they had appeared at 
considerable intervals, and unconnected. Now the book 
struck people’s eyes; it was brilliant, strong, sincere. The 
language had freshness and metallic weight, but still bent 
obediently, and assumed the most subtile forms. The im- 
pression increased. Soon the murmur of praise changed 
to a roar filled with admiration. With the exaggeration 
usual in such cases, the work was exalted above its value, 
and in the young poet people began to foresee the coming 
heir of great glory and authority; his name passed from 
newspaper offices to publicity. People spoke of him every- 
where, were occupied with him, sought him; curiosity 
became the greater that he was little known personally. 
The old rich Zavilovski, Panna Helena’s father, who said 
that the two greatest plagues existing were perhaps the 
gout and poor relatives, repeated now to every one who 
asked him, “Mais oui, mais oui, — c’est mon cousin ;” 
and such testimony had also its social weight for many 
persons, and, among others, weight of first order for Pani 
Bronich. Pani Aneta and Lineta ceased even to suffer 
because of the pin of “poor taste” in Zavilovski’s necktie, 
for now everything about him might pass as original. She 
was pained yet that his name was Ignatsi. They would 
have preferred another more in keeping with his fame 
and his poetry; but when Osnovski, who from Metz 
had brought home a little Latin, explained to them 
that it meant ‘“‘fiery,” they answered that if that were 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 591 


true, it was another thing; and they were reconciled with 
Ignatsi. 

Sincere and great joy reigned at Bigiel’s, at Pan Stan- 
islav’s, and in the counting-house, because the book had 
,won such fame; they were not envious in the counting- 
house. The old cashier, the agent, and the second 
book-keeper were proud of their colleague, as if his glory 
had brightened the counting-house also. he cashier even 
said, “ But we have shown the world what our style is!” 
Bigiel was thinking for two days whether in view of all 
this Zavilovski should remain in a modest position in the 
house of Polanyetski and Bigiel; but Zavilovski, when 
questioned by him, answered, — 

“This is very good of you, kind sir. Because people 
are talking a little about me, you want to take my morsel 
of bread from me, and my pleasant associates. I found 
no publishers; and had it not been for your book-keeper, I 
could not have published the volume.” 

To such an argument there was no answer, and Zavi- 
lovski remained in the counting-house. But he was a more 
frequent guest both at Bigiel’s and at Pan Stanislav’s. 
At the Osnovskis’ he had not shown himself for a whole 
week after the volume was published, just as if something 
had happened. But Pani Bigiel and Marynia persuaded 
him to go; he had a secret desire, too, — hence one evening 
he went. 

But he found the company just going to the theatre. 
They wished to remain at home absolutely, but he would 
not consent; and to the evident delight of Pani Osnovski 
and Lineta, it ended in this, —that he went with them. 
‘‘Let Yozio buy a ticket for a chair if he wishes.” And 
Yozio took a ticket for a chair. During the play Zavilovski 
sat in the front of the box with Lineta, for Pani Aneta had 
insisted that Pani Bronich and she would play “mother” 
for them. ‘You two can say what you please; and if any 
one comes, I will so stun him that he’l] not have power to 
trouble you.” ‘The eyes of people were turned frequently 
to that box when it was known who were sitting there, 
and Lineta felt that a kind of halo surrounded her; she 
felt that people not only were looking at him, but at the 
same time inquiring, “Whose is that head with golden 
hair and dreamy lids, to whom he is inclining and speak- 
ing?” She, on her part, looking at him sometimes, said 
to herself, “Were it not for the too prominent chin, he 


392 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


would be perfectly good-looking; his profile is very deli- 
cate, and a beard might cover his chin.” Pani Aneta 
carried out her promise nobly; and when Kopovski ap- 
peared, she occupied him so much that he could barely 
greet Lineta, and say to Zavilovski, — 

“Ah, you write verses!” 

After this happy discovery he succeeded in adding, but 
rather as a monologue, “I should like verses immensely; 
but, a wonderful thing, the moment I read them I think of 
something else right away.” 

Lineta, turning her face, cast a long glance at him; and 
it is unknown which was stronger in this glance, the 
maliciousness of the woman, or the sudden admiration of 
the artist, for that head without brains, which, issuing 
from the depth of the box, seemed, on the red background 
of the wall, like some masterly thought of an artist. 

After the theatre, Pani Aneta would not let Zavilovski 
go home; and all went to drink tea. Hardly had they 
reached the house, when Pani Bronich began to make 
reproaches. 

“You are an evil man; and if anything happens to 
Lineta, it will be on your conscience. The child doesn’t 

eat, doesn’t sleep; she only reads you, and reads.” 

Pani Aneta added immediately, — 

“True! I, too, have cause of complaint: she seized 
your book, and will not give it to any one for an instant; 
and when we are angry, ‘do you know what she answers? 

‘This is mine! this is mine! Oi: 

And Lineta, though she had not the book in her hands 
at that moment, pressed them to her bosom, as if to defend 
something, and said in a low, soft voice, — 

“For it is mine, mine! ” 

Zavilovski looked at her and felt that something had, as 
it were, thrilled in him. But on returning home late he 
passed by Pan Stanislav’s windows, in which light was still 
shining. After the theatre and conversation at the Osnov- 
skis’ he felt a certain turning of the head. Now the sight 
of those windows brought him to himself; he felt suddenly 
such a pleasant impression as one experiences on thinking 
of something very good and very dear. His immense, pure 
homage for Marynia arose in him with its former power: 
he was possessed by that kind of mild exaltation in which 
the desires fall asleep, and a man becomes almost entirely 
a spirit; and he returned home, muttering passages from 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 893 


the poem “ Lilia,” the most full of exaltation of any which 
he had written in his life yet. 

There was light at Pan Stanislav’s because something 
had happened, which seemed to Marynia that mercy of 
God expected and hoped for. 

In the evening, after tea, she was sitting breaking her 
head, as usual, over daily accounts, when she put the pencil 
down onasudden. After a while she grew pale, but her 
face became clear; and she said, with a voice slightly 
changed , — 

“Stas!” 

Her voice surprised him somewhat; therefore he ap- 
proached her, and asked, — 

“What is the matter? Thou art a little pale.” 

“Come nearer; I ’1l tell thee something.” 

And, taking his head with her hands, she whispered into 
his ear, and he listened; then, kissing her on the forehead, 
he said, — 

“Only be not excited, lest thou hurt thyself.” 

But in his words emotion was evident. He walked 
through the room, looked at her a while, kissed her again 
on the forehead; at last he said, — 

‘‘Usually people wish a son first, but remember that it 
be a daughter. We ’ll call her Litka.” 

Neither of them could sleep that night for a long time, 
and that was why Zavilovski saw lght in the windows. 


394 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL 


CHAPTER XLIV. 


In a week, when probability had become certainty, Pan 
Stanislav gave the news to the Bigiels. Pani Bigiel flew 
the same day to Marynia, who fell to weeping with glad- 
ness on her honest shoulders. 

“Tt seems to me,” said she, “that Stas will love me more 
now.” 

“ How more?” 

“T wished to say still more,” answered Marynia. ‘‘Seest 
thou, for that matter, I have never enough.” 

“He would have to settle with me if there were not 
enough.” 

The tears dried on Marynia’s sweet face, and only a 
smile remained. After a time she clasped her hands, as 
if in prayer, and said, — 

“Oh, my God, if it is only a daughter! for Stas wants a 
daughter.” 

“ And what wouldst thou like?” 

“JT — but don’t tell Stas —I should like a son; but let it 
be a daughter.” 

Then she grew thoughtful, and asked, — 

“But there is no help, is there?” 

“There is not,’ answered Pani Bigiel, laughing; “for 
that they have not found yet any remedy.” 

Bigiel, on his part, gave the news to every one whom he 
met; and in the counting-house he said, in Pan Stanislav’s 
presence, with a certain unction in his voice, — 

“Well, gentlemen, it seems that the house will be in- 
creased by one member.” 

The employees turned inquiring glances on him; he 
added , — 

“Thanks to Pan and Pani Polanyetski.” 

Then all hurried to Pan Stanislav with good wishes, 
excepting Zavilovski, who, bending over his desk, began 
to look diligently at columns of figures; and only after a 
while, when he felt that his conduct might arrest attention, 
did he turn with a changed face to Pan Stanislav, and, press- 
ing his hand, repeat, “1 congratulate, I congratulate! ” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 395 


It seemed to him then that he was ridiculous, that some- 
thing had fallen on his head; that he felt empty, bound- 
lessly stupid; and that the whole world was fabulously 
trivial. The worst, however, was the feeling of his own 
ridiculousness; for the affair was so natural and easily 
foreseen that even such a man as Kopovski might foresee 
it. At the same time, he, an intelligent man, writing 
poetry, pervaded with enthusiasm, grasping everything 
which happened around, slipped into such an illusion that 
it seemed to him then as if a thunderbolt had struck him. 
What overpowering ridiculousness! But he had made the 
acquaintance of Marynia as Pani Polanyetski, and imagined 
to himself unconsciously that she had always been, and 
would be, Pani Polanyetski in the future as she was in 
the present, and simply it had not occurred to him that 
any change might supervene. And behold, observing lily 
tones once on her face, he called her Lily, and wrote lily 
verses to her. And now that lost sense, which to vexation 
adds something of ridicule, whispered in his ear, “Ah, a 
pretty lily!” And Zavilovski felt more and more crushed, 
more and more ridiculous; he wrote verses, but Pan 
Stanislav did not write any. In that apposition there was 
a gnawing bitterness, and something idiotic; he took deep 
draughts from that cup, so as not to lose one drop in the 
drinking. If his feelings had been betrayed; if he had 
made them known to Marynia; if she had repulsed him 
with utter contempt, and Pan Stanislav had thrown him 
downstairs ,— there would have been something in that like 
a drama. But such an ending, —‘‘such flatness!” He 
had a nature feeling everything ten times more keenly than 
common men; hence the position seemed to him simply un- 
endurable, and those office hours, which he had to sit out 
yet, a torture. His feeling for Marynia had not sunk in 
his heart deeply; but it occupied his imagination altogether. 
Reality now struck its palm on his head without mercy; the 
blow seemed to him not only painful and heavy, but also 
given sneeringly. The desperate thought came to his 
head to seize his cap, go out, and never come back again. 
Fortunately, the usual hour for ending work came at last, 
and all began to separate. 

Zavilovski, while passing through the corridor, where, 
at a hat-rack, a mirror was fixed, saw his projecting chin 
and tall form in it, and said to himself, ‘‘Thus looks an 
idiot.” He did not go to dine that day with the second 


396 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


book-keeper, as usual; he would have been even glad to flee 
from his own person. Meanwhile he shut himself in at 
home, and with the exaggeration of a genuine artist, 
heightened to impossible hmits his misfortune and ridicu- 
lous position. After some days he grew calm, however; 
he felt only a strange void in his heart, — precisely as if it 
were a dwelling vacated by some one. He did not show 
himself at Pan Stanislav’s for a fortnight; but at the end 
of that time he saw Marynia at the Bigiels’, and was 
astonished. 

She seemed to him almost ugly. That was by no means 
his prejudice, for, though it was difficult to notice a change 
in her form, still she had changed greatly. Her lips were 
swollen; there were pimples on her forehead; and she had 
lost freshness of color. She was calm, however, but some- 
what melancholy, as if some disappointment had met her. 
Zavilovski, who, in truth, had a good heart, was moved 
greatly by her ugliness. Before, it seemed to him that he 
would disregard her; now that seemed to him stupid. 

But her face only had changed, not her kindness or 
good-will. Nay, feeling safe now from superfluous entha- 
siasms on his part, she showed him more cordiality than 
ever. She asked with great. interest about Lineta; and 
when she found that a subject on which he, too, spoke will- 
ingly, she began to laugh with her former laughter, full 
of indescribable sweetness, and said almost joyously, — 

‘“Well, well! People wonder there why you have not 
visited them for so long a time; and do you know what 
Aneta and Pani Bronich told me? They told me—” 

But here she stopped, and after a while said, — y 

‘‘No; I cannot tell this aloud. Let us walk in the garden 
a little.” 

And she rose, but not with sufficient care, so that, stum- 
bling at the first step, she almost fell. 

“Be careful!” cried Pan Stanislav, impatiently. 

She looked at him with submission, almost with fear. 

“Stas,” said she, blushing, “as I love thee, that was 
inadvertent.” 

“But do not frighten her so,” said Pani Bigiel, quickly. 

It was so evident that Pan Stanislav cared more at that 
moment for the coming child than Marynia, that even 
Zavilovski understood it. 

As to Marynia, this was known to her long before that 
day; she had passed through a whole mental battle with 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL, 897 


herself just because of it. Of that battle she had not 
spoken to any one; and it was the more difficult, the more 
the state of her health advised against excitement, unquiet, 
and an inclination to gloomy brooding. She had passed 
through grievous hours before she said to herself, “It must 
be as it is.” 

Pan Stanislav would have been simply astonished had 
any one told him that he did not love, and especially that 
he did not value, his wife as duty demanded. He loved her 
in his own way, and judged at once that, if ever, it was 
then that the child should be for both a question beyond 
every other. Vivacious and impulsive by nature, he pushed 
this care at moments too far, but he did not account this to 
himself as a fault; he did not even stop to think of what 
might take place in the soul of Marynia. It seemed to 
him that among other duties of hers one of the first was 
the duty of giving him children; that it was a simple thing, 
therefore, that she should accomplish this. Hence he 
was thankful to her, and imagined that, being careful of a 
child, he was by that very act careful of her, and careful 
in a degree that few husbands are. If he had considered 
it proper to call himself to account touching his treatment 
of her, he would have considered it a thing perfectly 
natural also that her charm, purely feminine, attracted him 
now less than it had hitherto. With each day she became 
uglier, and offended his wsthetic sense sometimes; he 
fancied that, concealing this from her, and trying to show 
her sympathy, he was as delicate as a man could well be 
to a woman. 

She, on her part, had the impression that the hope on 
which she had counted most had deceived her; she felt 
that she had descended to the second place, that she would 
descend more and more. And in spite of all her affection 
for her husband, in spite of the treasures of tenderness 
which were collecting in her for the future child, rebellion 
and regret seized her soul at the first moment. But this 
did not last long; she battled with these feelings also, and 
conquered. She said to herself that here it was no one’s 
fault; life is such that this issues from the natural con- 
dition of things, which, again, is a result of God’s will. 
Then she began to accuse herself of selfishness, and crush 
herself with the weight of this thought: Has she a right 
to think of herself, not of “Stas,” and not of her future 
ehild? What can she bring against “Stas”? What is there 


398 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


wonderful in this, that he, who had loved even a strange 
child so much, has his soul occupied now, above all, with 
his own; that his heart beats first for it? Is there not an 
offence against God in this, —that she permits herself to 
bring forward first of all rights of her own, happiness of 
her own, she, who has offended so much? Who is she, 
and what right has she to an exceptional fate? And she 
was ready to beat her breast. The rebellion passed; there 
remained only somewhere in the very depths of her heart 
a little regret that life is so strange, and that every new 
feeling, instead of strengthening a previous one, pushes 
it into the depths. But when that sorrow went from her 
heart to her eyes, under the form of tears, or began to 
quiver on her lips, she did not let it have such an escape. 

“T shall be calm in a moment,” thought she, in her soul. 
“Such it is, such it will be, and such is right; for such is 
life, and such is God’s will, with which we must be recon- 
ciled.” And at last she was reconciled. 

By degrees she found repose even, not giving an account 
to herself that the basis of this was resignation and sad- 
ness. It was sadness, however, which smiled. Being 
young, it was almost bitter at times to her, when all at 
once, in the eyes of her husband, or of even some stranger, 
she read clearly, “Oh, how ugly thou hast grown!” But 
because Pani Bigiel had said that “afterward” she would 
be more beautiful than ever, she said in her soul to them, 
“Wait!” —and that was her solace. 

She answered also something similar to Zavilovski. She 
was at once glad, and not glad, of the impression she had 
made on him; for if on the one hand her self-love had 
suffered a little, on the other she felt perfectly safe, and 
could speak with him freely. She wished to speak, and 
speak with full seriousness, for a few days before, Pani 
Aneta had told her directly that “The Column” was in 
love to the ears, and that Zavilovski had every chance 
with her. : 

This forging the iron while hot disquieted her somewhat; 
she could not understand why it was so, even taking into 
consideration the innate impetuosity of Pani Aneta. For 
Zavilovski, who had become somehow the Benjamin of 
both houses, she, as well as the Bigiels and Pan Stanislav, 
had great friendship; and, besides, she was grateful to him, 
for, be things as they might, he had appreciated her. He 
had known her truly, hence she would help him with glad- 





| 
| 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 399 


ness in that which seemed to her a great opportunity; but 
she thought also, “Suppose it should be bad for him.” 
She feared responsibility a little, and her own previous 
diplomacy. Now, therefore, she wishes to learn first what 
he thinks really, and then give him to understand how 
things are, and finally advise him to examine and weigh 
with due care in the given case. 

“They are wondering there, because you have not called 
for a long time,” said she, when they had gone to the 
garden. 

“What did Pani Osnovski say?” inquired Zaviloyski. 

I will tell you only one thing, though I am not sure 
that I ought to repeat it. Pani Aneta told me —that— 
but no! First, I must learn why you have not called there 
this long time.” 

“JT was not well, and I had a disappointment. I made 
no visits; I could not! You have stopped talking.” 

“Yes, for I wished to know if you were not angry at 
those ladies for some cause. Pani Aneta told me that 
Lineta supposed you were, and that she saw tears in her 
eyes a number of times, for that reason.” 

Zavilovski blushed; on his young and impressionable 
face real tenderness was reflected. 

“Ah, my God!” answered he; ‘‘I angry, and at a lady 
like Panna Lineta? Could she offend any one?” 

“‘T repeat what was said to me, though Pani Aneta is so 
impulsive that I dare not guarantee all she says to be 
accurate. I know that she is not lying; but, as you un- 
derstand, very impulsive people see things sometimes as 
if through a magnifying-glass. Satisfy yourself. Lineta 
seems to me agreeable, very uncommon, and very kind 
— but judge for yourself; you have such power of 
observation.” 

“That she is kind and uncommon is undoubted. You 
remember how I said that they produced the impression of 
foreign women; that is not true altogether. Pani Osnovski 
may, but not Panna Lineta.” 

“You must look yourself, and look again,” said Marynia. 
“You understand that I persuade you to nothing. I should 
have a little fear, even of Stas, who does not like those 
ladies. But I say sincerely that when I heard of Lineta’s 
tears, my heart was touched. The poor girl!” 

“I cannot even tell you how the very thought of that 
stirs me,” replied Zavilovski. 


400 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Further conversation was interrupted by the coming of 
Pan Stanislav, who said, — 

“Well? always matchmakers! But these women are 
incurable. Knowest thou, Marynia, what I will tell thee? 
I should be most happy wert thou to refrain from such 
matters.” 

Marynia began to explain; but he turned to Zavilovski, 
and said, — 

“T enter into nothing in this case, and know only this, 
—that I have not the least faith in those ladies.” 

Zavilovski went home full of dreams. All the strings 
of his imagination had been stirred and sounded, so that 
the wished-for sleep fled from him. He did not light a 
lamp, so that nothing might prevent him from playing 
on those quivering strings; he sat in the moonlight and 
mused, or rather, created. He was not in love yet; but 
a great tenderness had possessed him at thought of Lineta, 
and he arranged images as if he loved already. He saw 
her as distinctly as though she were before him; he 
saw her dreamy eyes, and her golden head, bending, like 
a cut flower, till it reached his breast. And now it seems 
to him that he is placing his fingers on her temples, and 
that he is feeling the satin touch of her hair, and, bend- 
ing her head back a little, he looks to see if the fondling 
has not dried her tears; and her eyes laugh at him, like 
the sky still wet from rain, but sunny. Imagination 
moves his senses. He thinks that he is confessing his 
love to her; that he presses her to his bosom, and feels her 
heart beating; that he kneels with his head on her knees, 
from which comes warmth through the silk garment to his 
face. And he began in reality to shiver. Hitherto she 
had been for him an image; now he feels her for the first 
time asa woman. There is not in him even one thought 
which is not on her; and he so forgets himself in her that 
he loses consciousness of where he is, and what is happen- 
ing within him. 

Some kind of hoarse singing on the street roused him; 
then he lighted a lamp, and began to think more soberly. 
A kind of alarm seized him now, because one thing seemed 
undoubted, — if he did not cease to visit Pani Bronich and 
the Osnovskis altogether, he would fall in love with that 
maiden past memory. 

“T must choose, then,” said he to himself. 

And next day he went to see her, for he had begun to 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 401 


yearn; and that same night he tried to write a poem with 
the title of **Spider-web.” 

He dared not go to Pani Bronich herself, so he waited 
till the hour when he could find all at tea, in the common 
drawing-room. Pani Aneta received him with uncommon 
cordiality, and outbursts of joyous laughter; but he, after 
greeting her, began to look at Lineta’s face, and his heart 
beat with more force when he saw in her a 
joy. 
“Do you know what?” cried Pani Aneta, with her usual 
vivacity. “Our ‘Poplar’ likes beards so much that I 
thought this of you: ‘he is letting his beard grow, and 
does not show himself.’ ” 

“No, no!” said the “ Poplar,” “stay as you were when I 
made your acquaintance.” 

But Pan Osnovski put his arm around Zaviloyski, and 
said, in that pleasant tone of a man of good breeding, who 
knows how to bring people at once to more intimate and 
cordial relations, — 

“Did Pan Ignas hide himself from us? Well, I have 
means to compel him. Let Lineta begin his portrait, then 
he must come to us daily.” 

Pani Aneta clapped her hands. 

“ How clever that Yozio is, wonderfully clever! ” 

His face was radiant because he had said a thing pleasing 
to his wife, and he repeated, — 

“Of course, my Anetka, of course.” 

“YT have promised already to paint it,” said Lineta, with 
a soft voice, ‘‘but I was afraid to be urgent.” 

“ Whenever you command,” answered Pan Ignas. 

“The days are so long now that about four, after Pan 
Kopovski; for that matter, I shall finish soon with that 
insufferable Kopovski.” 

“Do you know what she said about Pan Kopovski?” 
began Pani Aneta. 

But Lineta would not permit her to say this for anything ; 
she was prevented, moreover, by Pan Plavitski, who came 
in at that moment, and broke up the conversation. Pan 
Plavitski, on making the acquaintance of Pani Aneta at 
‘Marynia’s, lost his head for her, and acknowledged this 
openly; on her part, she coquetted with him unsparingly, 
to the great delight of herself and of others. 

“Let papa sit near me here,” said she ; “‘ we will be happy 
side by side, won’t we?” 


great and deep 


26 


402 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“ As in heaven! as in heaven!” replied Plavitski, strok- 
ing his knees with his palms time after time, and thrusting 
out the tip of his tongue from enjoyment. 

Zavilovski drew up to Lineta and said, — 

“Tam so happy to be able to come every day. But shall 
I not occupy your time, really ?” 

“Of course you will occupy it,” answered she, looking 
him in the eyes; “ but you will occupy it as no one else can. 
I was really too timid to urge, because I am afraid of you.” 

Then he looked into the depth of her eyes, and answered 
with emphasis, — 

“Be not afraid.” 

Lineta dropped her eyelids, and a moment of rather 
awkward suspense followed; then the lady inquired, in a 
voice somewhat lowered, — 

“ Why did you not come for such a long time ? ” 

He had it on his tongue to say, “I was afraid,” but he 
had not the daring to push matters that far; hence he 
answered, — 

“T was writing.” 

“A poem?” 

“Yes, called ‘Spider-web ;’ I will bring it to-morrow. You 
remember that when I made your acquaintance, you said 
that you would like to be a spider-web. JI remembered that; 
and since then I see continually such a snowy thread a 
ing in the air.’ 

“Tt sports, but not with its own power,” answered Lineta, 
“and cannot soar unless —” 

“What ? Why do you not finish?” 

“Unless it winds around the wing of a Soarer.” 

When she had said this, she rose quickly and went to 
help Osnovski, who was opening the window. 

Zavilovski remained alone with mist in his eyes. It 
seemed to him that he heard the throbbing of his temples. 
The honeyed voice of Pani Bronich first brought him to his 
senses, — 

“A couple of days ago old Pan Zavilovski told me that 
you and he are related; but that you are not willing to visit 
him, and that he cannot visit you, since he has the gout. 
Why not visit him? He isa man of such distinction, and so 
pleasant. Go to him; it is even a disappointment to him 
that you do not go. Go to visit him.” 

“Very well; I can go,” answered Zavilovski, who was 
ready that moment to agree to anything. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 403 


“How kind and good you must be! You will see your 
cousin, Panna Helena. But don’t fall in love with her, for 
she too is very distinguished.” 

“No, there is no danger,” said Zavilovski, laughing. 

‘They say besides that she was in love with Ploshov- 
ski, who shot himself, and that she wears eternal mourning 
in her heart for him. But when will you go?” 

“To-morrow, or the day after. When you like.” 

“You see, they are going away. The summer is at our 
girdles! Where will you be in the summer ?” 

“T donot know. And you?” 

Lineta, who during this time had returned and sat down 
not far away, stopped her conversation with Kopovski, and, 
hearing Pan Ignas’s question, rephed, — 

“We have no plan yet.” 

“We were going to Scheveningen,” said Pani Bronich, 
“but it is difficult with Lineta.” And after a while she 
added in a lower voice: “She is always so surrounded by 
people ; she has such success in society that you would not 
believe it. Though why should you not? It is enough to 
look at her. My late husband foretold this when she was 
twelve years of age. ‘Look,’ said he, ‘what trouble there 
will be when she grows up.’ And there is trouble, there 
is! My husband foresaw many things. But have I 
told you that he was the last of the Rur— Ah, yes! 1 
have told you. We had no children of our own, for the 
first one didn’t come to birth, and my husband was four- 
teen years older than I; later on he was to me more, —a 
father.” 

“ How can that concern me?’ thought Pan Ignas. But 
Pani Bronich continued, — 

“My late husband always grieved over this, that he had 
no son. That is, there was a son, but he came halfway too 
early ” (here tears quivered in the voice of Pani Bronich). 
“We kept him some time in spirits. And, if you will believe 
it, when there was fair weather he rose, and when there was 
rain he sank down. Ah, what a gloomy remembrance! How 
much my husband suffered because he was to die, —the last 
of the Rur—. But a truce to this; ’t is enough that at last 
he was as attached to Lineta as to a relative, —and surely 
she was his nearest relative, —and what remains after us 
will be hers. Maybe for that reason people surround her 
so. Though—no! Idonot wonder atthem. If youknew 


404 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


what a torment that is to her, and tome. ‘Two years ago, 
in Nice, a Portuguese, Count Jao Colimagao, a relative of 
the Alcantaras, so lost his head as to rouse people’s 
laughter. Or that Greek of last year, in Ostend! —the son 
of a banker, from Marseilles, a millionnaire. What was his 
name? Lineta, What was the name of that Greek million- 
naire, that one who, thou knowest ?”’ 

“ Aunt!” said Lineta, with evident displeasure. 

But the aunt was in full career already, like a train with 
full steam. 

“Ah, ha! I recollect,” said she, — “ Kanafaropulos, Sec- 
retary of the French Embassy in Brussels.” 

Lineta rose and went to Pani Aneta, who was talking at 
the principal table with Plavitski. The aunt, following her 
with her eyes, said, — 

“The child is angry. She hates tremendously to have 
any one speak of her successes ; but I cannot resist. Do you 
understand me? See how tall she is! How splendidly she 
has grown! Anetka calls her sometimes the column, and 
sometimes the poplar; and really, she is a poplar. What 
wonder that people’s eyes gaze at her! I have n’t mentioned 
yet Pan Ufinski. That’s our great friend. My late hus- 
band loved him immensely. But you must have heard of 
Pan Ufinski ? That man who cuts silhouettes out of paper. 
The whole world knows him. I don’t know at how many 
courts he has cut silhouettes; the last time he cut out the 
Prince of Wales. There was also a Hungarian.” 

Osnovski, who sat near by amusing himself with a pencil 
at his watch-chain, now drawing it out, now pushing it back, 
grew impatient at last, and said, — 

“ A couple of more such, dear aunt, and there would be a 
masquerade ball.” 

“Precisely, precisely!” answered Pani Bronich. “If I 
mention them, it is because Lineta does n’t wish to hear of 
any one. She is such a chauviniste! You have no idea 
what a chauviniste that child is.” 

“God give her health!” said Pan Ignas. 

Then he rose to take farewell. At parting, he held for 
some time the hand of Lineta, who answered also with an 
equally prolonged pressure. 

“Till to-morrow,”’ said he, looking into her eyes. 

“Till to-morrow — after Pan Kopovski. And do not for- 
get ‘Spider-web.’ ” 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 405 


“No, I will not forget — ever,” answered Zavilovski, with 
a voice somewhat moved. 

He went out with Plavitski; but they had scarcely found 
themselves on the street, when the old man, tapped him 
lightly on the arm, and stopping, said, — 

“Young man, do you know that I shall soon be a grand- 
father ? ’’ 

“JT know.” 

“Yes, yes!” repeated Plavitski with a smile of delight, 
‘and in addition to that, I will tell you only this much: 
there is nothing to surpass young married women!” 

And, laughing, he began to clap Pan Ignas time after time 
on the shoulder; then he put the ends of his fingers to his 
lips, took farewell, and walked off. 

But his voice, slightly quivering, came to Pan Ignas from 
a distance, — 

“There is nothing to surpass young married women.” 
Noise on the street drowned the rest. 


406 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER XLV. 


From that time Pan Ignas went every day to Aunt 
Bronich’s. He found Kopovski there frequently, for 
toward the end something had been spoiled in the portrait 
of “ Antinoiis.” Lineta said that she had not been able to 
bring everything out of that face yet; that the expression 
in the picture was not perhaps what it should be, —in a 
word, she needed time for reflection. With Pan Ignas her 
work went more easily. 

«With such a head as Pan Kopovski’s,” said she once, 
“it is enough to change the least line, it is enough to have 
the light wrong, to ruin everything. While with Pan 
Zavilovski one must seize first of all the character.” 

On hearing this, both were satisfied. Kopovski declared 
even that it was not his fault; that God had created him 
so. Pani Bronich said later on that Lineta had said 
apropos of that: “God created him; the Son of God re- 
deemed him ; but the Holy Ghost forgot to illuminate him.” 
That witticism on poor Kopoyski was repeated throughout 
Warsaw. 

Pan Ignas liked him well enough. After a few meetings 
he seemed to him so unfathomably stupid that it did not 
occur to him that any one could be jealous of the man. On 
the contrary, it was always pleasant to look at him. Those 
ladies too hiked him, though they permitted themselves to 
jest with him; and sometimes he served them simply as a 
ball, which they tossed from hand to hand. Kopovski’s 
stupidity was not gloomy, however, nor suspicious. He 
possessed a uniform temper and a smile really wonderful; 
of this last he was aware, perhaps, hence he preferred to 
smile rather than frown. He was well-bred, accustomed to 
society, and dressed excellently ; in this regard he might 
have served as a model to Pan Ignas. 

From time to time he put astonishing questions, which 
filled the young ladies with merriment. Once, hearing 
Pani Bronich talk of poetic inspirations, he asked Pan 
Ignas, “If anything was taken for it or not,” and at the 
first moment confused him, for Pan Ignas did not know 
what to answer. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOLL. 407 


Another time Pani Aneta said to him, — 

“Have you ever written poetry? Make some rhyme, 
then.” 

Kopovski asked time till next day; but next day he 
had forgotten the request, or could not make the verses. 
The ladies were too well-bred to remind him of his promise. 
It was always so agreeable to look at him that they did 
not wish to cause him unpleasantness. 

Meanwhile spring ended, and the races began. Pan 
Ignas was invited for the whole time of their continuance 
to the carriage of the Osnovskis. They gave him a place 
opposite Lineta; and he admired her with all his soul. 
In bright dresses, in bright hats, with laughter in her 
dreamy eyes, with her calm face flushing somewhat under 
the breath of fresh breezes, she seemed to him spring and 
paradise. Returning home, he had his eyes full of her, 
his mind and his heart full. In that world in which they 
lived, in the society of those young men, who came up to 
the carriage to entertain the ladies, he was not at home, 
but the sight of Lineta recompensed him for everything. 
Under the influence of sunny days, fair weather, broad 
summer breezes, and that youthful maiden, who began to 
be dear to him, he lived, as it were, in a continuous intoxi- 
cation ; he felt youth and power in himself. In his face 
there was at times something truly eagle-like. At moments 
it seemed to him that he was a ringing bell, sounding and 
sounding, heralding the delight of life, the delight of love, 
the delight of happiness, —a great jubilee of loving. 

He wrote much, and more easily than ever before; there 
was besides in his verses that which recalled the fresh 
odor of newly ploughed fields, the vigor of young leaves, 
the sound of wings of birds flying on to fallow land to the 
immense breadth of plains and meadows. He felt his own 
power, and ceased to be timid about poetry even before 
strangers, for he understood that there was something about 
him, something within him, and that he had something to 
lay at the feet of a loved one. 

Pan Stanislav, who, in spite of his mercantile life, had 
an irrestrainable passion for horses, and never neglected 
the races, saw Pan Ignas every day with the Osnovskis and 
Panna Castelli, and gazing at the latter as at a rainbow; 
when he teased him in the counting-house for being in love, 
the young poet answered, — 

“Tt is not I, but my eyes. The Osnovskis will go soon, 
those ladies too ; and all will disappear like a dream.” 


408 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


But he did not speak truth, for he did not believe that 
all could disappear like a dream. On the contrary, he felt 
that for him a new life had begun, which with the departure 
of Panna Lineta might be broken. 

“And where are Pani Bronich and Panna Castelli 
going ?” continued Pan Stanislav. 

“For the rest of June and during July they will remain 
with the Osnovskis, and then go, as “they say, to Schevenin- 
gen; but this is not certain yet. 9 

« Osnovski’s Prytulov is fifteen miles from Warsaw,” 
said Pan Stanislav. 

For some days Pan Ignas had been asking himself, with 
heart beating, whether they would invite him or not; but 
when they invited him, and besides very cordially, he did 
not promise to go, and with all his expressions of gratitude 
held back, excusing himself with the plea of occupation 
and.lack of time. lLineta, who was sitting apart, heard 
him, and raised her golden brows. When he was going, she 
approached him and asked, — 

“ Why will you not come to Prytulov ?” 

He, seeing that no one could hear them, said, looking 
into her eyes, — 

“T am afraid.” 

She began to laugh, and inquired, repeating Kopovski’s 
words, — 

“Ts it necessary to take anything for that ? ” 

“Tt is,” answered he, with a voice somewhat trembling ; 
“T need to take the word, come, from you!” 

She hesitated a moment; perhaps she did not dare to tell 
him directly in that form which he required, but she 
blushed suddenly and whispered, — 

‘¢Come.” 

Then she fled, as if ashamed of those colors on her face, 
which, in spite of the darkness, were increasingly evident. 

On the way home it seemed to Pan Ignas that a shower 
of stars was raining down on him. 

The departure of the Osnovskis was to take place in ten 
days only. Up to that time, the painting of portraits was 
to continue its usual course, and to go on in the same 
fashion till the last day, for Lineta did not wish to lose 
time. Pani Aneta persuaded her to paint Pan Ignas exclu- 
sively, since Kopovski would need only as many sittings as 
could be arranged in Prytulov just before their departure 
for Scheweningen. For Pan Ignas those sittings had be. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 409 


come the first need of his life, as it were; and if by chance 
there was any interruption, he looked on that day as lost. 
Pani Bronich was present at the sittings most frequently. 
But he divined in her a friendly soul; and at last the man- 
ner in which she spoke of Lineta began to please him. 
They both just composed hymns in honor of Lineta, whom in 
confidential conversation Pani Bronich called “ Nitechka.” ! 
This name pleased Pan Ignas the more clearly he felt how 
that “Nitechka” (thread) was winding around his heart. 

Frequently, however, it seemed to him that Pani Bronich 
was narrating improbable things. It was easy to believe 
that Lineta was and could be Svirski’s most capable pupil; 
that Svirski might have called her “La Perla;” that he 
might have fallen in love with her, as Pani Bronich gave 
one to understand. But that Svirski, known in all Europe, 
and rewarded with gold medals at all the exhibitions, could 
declare with tears, while looking at some sketch of hers, 
that saving technique, he ought rather to take lessons of her, 
of this even Pan Ignas permitted himself to doubt. And 
somewhere, in some corner of his soul, in which there was 
hidden yet a small dose of sobriety, he wondered that 
Panna “ Nitechka” did not contradict directly, but limited 
herself to her words usual on such occasions: “ Aunt! thou 
knowest that I do not wish you to repeat such things.” 

But at last he lost even those final gleams of sobriety, 
and began to have feelings of tenderness even over the late 
Bronich, and almost fell in love with Pani Bronich, for this 
alone, — that he could talk with her from morning till night 
of Lineta. 

In consequence of this repeated insistence of Pani Bro- 
nich, he visited also, at this time, old Pan Zavilovski, that 
Croesus, at whose house he had never been before. The 
old noble, with milk-white mustaches, a ruddy complexion, 
and gray hair closely trimmed, received him with his foot 
in an armchair, and with that peculiar great-lord famili- 
arity of a man accustomed to this, — that people count more 
with him than he with them. 

“T beg pardon for not standing,” said he, “but the gout 
is no joke. Ha, what is to be done! An inheritance! It 
seems that this will be attached to the name for the ages of 
ages. But hast thou not a twist in thy thumb some- 
times ? ” 

1 “ Nitechka” (little thread) is the diminutive of “ Nitka,” itself a di- 
minutive of “ Nits,” which means thread. 


410 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“No,” answered Pan Ignas, who was a little astonished, 
as well at the manner of reception as that the old noble 
said thou to him from the first moment. 

“Wait; old age will come.” 

Then, calling his daughter, he presented Pan Ignas to 
her, and began to speak of the family, explaining to the 
young man how they were related. At last he said, — 

“Well, I have not written verses, for I am too dull; but 
I must tell thee that thou hast written them for me, and 
that [ was not ashamed, though I read my name under the 
verses.” 

But the visit was not to end successfully. Panna Zavi- 
lovski, a person of thirty years, good-looking, but, as it 
were, untimely faded and gloomy, wishing to take some 
part in the conversation, began to inquire of her “ cousin” 
whom he knew, and where he visited. To every name 
mentioned, the old noble appended, in one or two words, 
his opinion. At mention of Pan Stanislav, he said, “Good 
blood!” at Bigiel’s, he inquired, “ How?” and when the 
name was repeated, he said, “ Connais pas ;” Pani Aneta 
he outlined with the phrase, “Crested lark!” at mention 
of Pani Bronich he muttered, “Babbler;” at last, when 
the young man named, with a certain confusion, Panna 
Castelli, the noble, whose leg twitched evidently at that 
moment, twisted his face terribly, and exclaimed, “Ei! a 
Venetian half-devil !”’ 

At this, it grew dark in the eyes of Pan Ignas, who, not- 
withstanding his shyness, was impulsive; his lower jaw 
came forward more than ever, and, rising, he measured with 
a glance the old man from his aching foot to his crown, 
and said, — 

“You have a way of giving sharp judgments, which does 
not suit me; therefore it is pleasant to take farewell.” 

And, bowing, he took his hat and departed. 

Old Pan Zavilovski, who permitted himself everything, 
and to whom everything was forgiven, looked at his daugh- 
ter some time with amazement, and only after long silence 
exclaimed, — 

‘What! has he gone mad?” 

The young man did not tell Pani Bronich what had hap- 
pened. He said merely that he had made a visit, and that 
father and daughter alike did not please him. She learned 
everything, however, from the old man himself, who, for 
that matter, did not call Lineta anything but “Venetian 
half-devil,” even to her eyes. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 411 


“But to make the matter perfect, you have sent mea full 
devil,” said he; “it is well that he did not break my 
head.” : 

Still in his voice one might note a species of satisfaction 
that it was a Zavilovski who had shown himsef so resolute; 
but Pani Bronich did not note it. She took the affair some. 
what to heart, and, to the great astonishment of the “ full- 
devil,” said to him, — 

“He is wild about Lineta, and with him this is a sort of 
term of tenderness; besides, one should forgive a man 
much who has such a position, and in this age. It must be 
that you have n’t read Krashevski’s novel, ‘ Venetian Half- 
Devil.’ This is a title in which there is a certain poetry 
ever since that author used it. When the old man grows 
good-natured, write him a couple of words, will you not ? 
Such relations should be kept up.” 

“Pani,” answered Pan Ignas, “I would not write to him 
for anything in the world.” 

“Even if some one besides me should ask ? ” 

“That is —again, I am not a stone.” 

Lineta laughed when she heard these words. In secret 
she was pleased that Pan Ignas, at one word touching her 
which to him seemed offensive, sprang up as if he had 
heard a blasphemy. So that during the sitting, when for a 
while they were alone, she said, — 

“Tt is wonderful how little I believe in the sincerity of 
people. So difficult is it for me to believe that any one, 
except aunt, should wish me well really.” 

“Why ?” 

“T don’t know. I cannot explain it to myself.” 

“ But, for example, the Osnovskis ? Pani Aneta ?” 

“Pani Aneta?” repeated Lineta. 

And she began to paint diligently, as if she had forgotten 
the question. 

“But 1?” asked Pan Ignas, in a lower voice. 

“You—yes. You, I am sure, would not let any one 
speak ill of me. I feel that you are sincerely well-wishing, 
though I know not why, for in general I am of so little 
worth.” 

“You of little worth!” cried Pan Ignas, springing up. 
“Remember that, in truth, I will let no one speak ill of 
you, not even you yourself.” 

Lineta laughed and said, — 

_“Very well; but sit down, for I cannot paint.” 


412 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


He sat down; but he looked at her with a gaze so full of 
love and enchantment that it began to confuse her. 

“ What a disobedient model!” said she ; “turn your head 
to the right a little, and do not look at me.” 

“*T cannot! I cannot!” answered Pan Ignas. 

“And I, in truth, cannot paint, for the head was begun 
in another position. Wait!” 

Then she approached him, and, taking his temples with 
her fingers, turned his head toward the right shghtly. His 
heart began to beat like a hammer; everything went around 
in his eyes; and, holding the hand of Lineta, he pressed 
her warm palm to his lips, and made no answer, — he only 
pressed it more firmly. 

“Talk with aunt,” said she, hurriedly. “We are going 
to-morrow.” 

They could not say more, for that moment Osnovski, 
Kopoyski, and Pani Aneta, who had been sitting in the 
drawing-room adjoining, came into the studio. 

Pani Aneta, seeing Lineta’s blushing cheeks, looked 
quickly at Pan Ignas, and asked, — 

“ How is it going with you to-day?” 

“Where is aunt?” inquired Lineta. 

“She went out to make visits.” 

“Long since?” 

“A few minutes ago. How has it gone with you?” 

“Well; but enough for to-day.” 

Lineta put down her brush, and after a moment went to 
wash her hands. Pan Ignas remained there, answer- 
ing, with more or less presence of mind, questions put 
to him; but he wanted to go. He feared the conversa- 
tion with Pani Bronich, and, with the habit of cowards, he 
wished to defer it till the morrow; he wanted, besides, to 
remain a while with his own thoughts, to arrange them, to 
estimate better the significance of what had happened. For 
at that moment he had in his head merely a certain chaos 
of indefinite thoughts; he understood that something un- 
paralleled had happened, — something from which a new 
epoch in life would begin. At the very thought of this, 
a quiver of happiness passed through him, but also a. 
quiver of fear, for he felt that now it was too late to 
withdraw; through love, through confession, through dec- 
laration to the lady and to her family, he must advance 
to the altar. He desired this with his whole soul; but he 
was so accustomed to consider everything that was happi- 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 413 


ness as a poetic imagining, as something belonging exelu- 
sively to the world of thought, art, and dreams, ‘that he 
almost lacked daring to believe that Lineta could become 
his wite really. Meanwhile he had barely endurance to 
sit out the time; and when Lineta returned, he rose to take 
leave. 

She gave him her hand, cooled by fresh water, and 
said, — 

“Will you not wait for aunt?” 

“‘T must go; and to-morrow I will take farewell of you 
and Pani Bronich.” 

“Then till our next meeting! ” 

This farewell seemed to Pan Ignas, after what had 
happened, so inappropriate and cold that despair seized 
him; but he had not the daring to part before people 
otherwise, all the more that Pani Aneta was looking at 
him with uncommon attention. 

“Wait! I have something to do in the city; we’ll go 
together,” said Osnovski, as he was going out. 

And they went together; but barely were they outside 
the gate of the villa, when Pan Osnoyski stopped, and put 
his hand on the poet’s arm. 

“Pan Ignas, have you not quarrelled a little with 
Lineta? ” 

Pan Ignas looked at him with great eyes. 

“‘T? with Panna Lineta?” 

“Yes, for you parted somehow coldly. I thought you 
were as far, at least, as hand-kissing.” 

Pan Ignas’s eyes grew still larger; Osnovski laughed, 
and said, — 

“Well, I’ll tell you the truth. My wife, as a woman 
who is curious, looked at you, and said that something had 
happened. My Pan Ignas, you have in me a great friend, 
who, besides, knows what it is to love. I can say to you 
only one thing, —God grant you to be as happy as I 
am!” 

When he had said this, he began to shake his guest’s 
hand; and Pan Ignas, though confused to the highest 
degree, was barely able to refrain from falling on his neck. 

“Have you really some work to-day? Why did you 

on” 

“T will tell you sincerely. I wanted to collect my 
thoughts, and, besides, fear of Pani Bronich seized 
me.” 


414 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL 


“Then you do not know aunt? Her head, too, is warm 
with the question. Come with me a bit of the road, and 
then go back without ceremony. On the way you will col- 
lect your thoughts; by that time Pani Bronich will be at 
home, and you will tell her your little story, at which she 
will weep. Nothing else threatens you. Kemember, too, 
that if you are fortunate you are to thank mainly my Aneta, 
for, as God lives, she has filled Castelka’s head, as your 
own sister might. She has such an impetuous head, and 
at the same time such an honest heart. Equally good 
women there may be, but a better there is not on earth. 
It seemed to us a little that that fool Kopovski was in- 
clined to Castelka, and Aneta was tremendously angry. 
They like Kopovski; but to let her marry such a man— 
that would be too much.” 

Thus talking, he took Pan Ignas by the hand, and after 
a moment, continued, ‘ We are to be relatives soon; let us 
drop ceremony and say thou to each other. I must teil 
thee further: I have no doubt Castelka loves thee with 
her whole heart, for she is a true woman also. Besides, 
they have turned her head with thee greatly; but she is 
so young yet that I tell thee to throw fuel on the fire — 
throw it! Dost understand? What is begun should 
become rooted; this can happen easily, for hers is really 
an uncommon nature. Do not think that I wish to fore- 
warn or to frighten thee. No; it is a question only of 
making things permanent. That she loves thee is not 
subject to doubt. If thy eyes had but seen her when she 
was carrying thy book around, or what happened when 
she and thou were returning from the theatre. A stupid 
thought came to my head then. I spoke of having heard 
that old Zavilovski wished to make thy acquaintance 
because he had planned to marry thee to his daughter, so 
that his property might not leave the name; and imagine 
to thyself, that poor girl, when she heard this, became as 
pale as paper, so that I was frightened, and took back my 
words in all haste. What is thy answer to this?” 

Pan Ignas wanted to laugh and to weep; but he merely 
pressed to his side, and pressed with all his force, Osnov- 
ski’s hand, which he held under his arm, and said, after a 
while, — 

“T am not worthy of her, no.” 

‘‘Well, and after that ‘no’ perhaps thou wilt say, ‘ No, 
I do not love her properly.’ ” 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 415 


“That may be true,” answered Pan Ignas, raising his 
eyes. 

**Well, go back now, and tell’ thy little story to Aunt 
Bronich. Do not fear being too pathetic; she likes that. 
Till we meet again, Ignas! I shall be back myself in an 
hour or so, and we shi all have a betrothal evening.” 

They pressed each other’s hands, and Osnoy ski said, with 
a feeling which was quite brotherly, — 

**T repeat once more: God grant thee to find in Castelka 
such a wife as my Anetka! ” 

On the way back Pan Ignas thought that Osnovski was 
an angel, Pani Osnovski another, Pani Bronich a third, 
and Lineta, soaring above them all on the wings of an 
archangel, something divine and sacred. He understood 
at that moment that a heart might love to pain. In his 
soul he was kneeling at her knees, bowing to the earth at 
her feet; he loved her, deified her, and to all these feel- 
ings, which were playing in him one great hymn, as it 
were, to greet the dawn, was joined a feeling of such 
tenderness, as if that magnitied woman was also a little 
child, alone, and wonderfully loved, but a little thing, 
needing care. He recalled Osnovski’s story of how she 
had grown pale when they told her that there was a plan 
to marry him to another; and in his soul he repeated, 
*“*Ah, but thou art mine, thou art mine!” He grew tender 
beyond measure, and gratitude so filled his heart that it 
seemed to him that he could not repay her in a lifetime 
for that one moment of paleness. He felt happier than 
ever before; and at moments the immensity of this happi- 
ness almost frightened him. Hitherto he had been a 
theoretical pessimist, but now reality gave the lie to those 
passing theories with such power that it was hard for him 
to believe that he could have deceived himself to such a 
degree. 

Meanwhile he was returning to the villa, inhaling along 
the way the odor of blooming jasmines, and having some 
species of dim feeling that that intoxicating odor was 
nothing external, but simply a part and component of his 
happiness. “What people! what a house! what a family!’ 
said he to himself; “only among them could my White 
One be reared!” Then he looked on the sun, setting in 
calmness; he looked at the golden curtains of ev ening, 
bordered with purple; and that calmness began to possess 
him. In those immense lights he felt boundless love and 


416 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


kindness, which look on the world, cherish, and bless it. 
He did not pray in words, it is true; but everything was 
singing one thanksgiving ‘prayer in his soul. 

At the gate of the villa he recovered as if from a dream; 
he saw an old serving-man of the Osnovskis, who was look- 
ing at the passing carriages. 

“Good-evening, Stanislav,” said he; “but has not Pani 
Bronich returned?” 

“T am just looking, but I do not see her.” 

“ Are the ladies in the drawing-room yet?” 

“They are; and Pan Kopovski, too.” 

“But who will open for me?” 

“The door is open. I’ve come out only this minute.” 

Pan Ignas went up; but, finding no one in the common 
drawing-room, he went to the studio. There, too, he found 
no one; but in the adjoining smaller chamber certain low 
voices reached him through the portiére dividing that 
room from the studio. Thinking to find there both ladies 
and Kopovski, he drew aside the portiere slightly, and, 
looking in, was stupefied. 

Lineta was not in the room; but Kopovski was kneeling 
before Pani Osnovski, who, holding her hands thrust into 
his abundant hair, was bending his head back, inclining 
her face at the same time, as if to place a kiss on his 
forehead. 

‘*Anetka, if thon love me— 
voice stifled from passion. 

“T love—but no! I don’t want that,” answered Pani 
Osnovski, pushing him away somewhat. 

Pan Ignas dropped the portiere with an involuntary 
movement; for a moment he stood before it as if his feet 
had grown leaden. Finally, without giving himself a clear 
account of what he was doing, he passed through the studio, 
where the sound of his steps was deadened on the thick 
carpet, as it had been when he entered; he passed the main 
drawing-room, the entrance, the front steps, and came to 
himself at the gate of the villa. 

“Ts the serene lord going out?” inquired the old serving- 
man. 

**Yes,” answered Pan Ignas. 

He walked away as quickly as if escaping from some- 
thing. After atime, however, he stopped, and said aloud 
to himself, — 

“Why have I not gone mad?” 


oP) 


said Kopovski, with a 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 417 


And suddenly madness seemed to him 


possible, for he 
felt that he was losing the thread of his thoughts; that 


he could not give himself an account of anything: that he 
understood nothing, beheved nothing. Something began 
to tear in him, fall away. How was it? ‘That house 


which a moment before hie thought to be 
blessed retreat of exceptional souls, 
falsehood, the usual wickedness, the 
—a wretched and shameful comedy. And his Lineta, his 
White One, As breathing such an atmosphere, living in 
such an environment, existing with such beings! Here 
Osnovski’s words occurred to him: “God grant thee to find 
in Castelka such a wife as I have in my Anetka!” “ITthank 
thee,” thought Pan Ignas, and he began to laugh, in spite 
of himself. Neither evil nor vileness were to him a 
novelty: he had seen them, and he knew that they existed; 
but for the first time life showed them to him with such 
a merciless irony, as that through which Pan Osnoyski, — 
aman who had shown him the heart of a brother; a man 
honest, just, kind as few people in the world are — turned 
out to be also a fool, a kind of exalted idiot, exalted 
through his faith and his feeling; an idiot through a 
woman. And for the first time, too, he saw clearly what 
a bad and contemptible woman may make of a man, with- 
out any fault of his. On a sudden new, dreadful horizons 
of life opened before him,—whole regions, the exist- 
ence of which he had not suspected; he had understood 
before that an evil woman, like a vampire, may suck the 
life out of a man, and kill him, and that seemed to him 
demonic, but he had not imagined that she could make a 
fool of him also. He could not master that thought. But 
still, Osnovski was ridiculous when he wished him to be 
as happy with his future wife as he with Anetka; there 
was no help for this case either. One should not so love 
as to grow blind to that degree. 

Here his thoughts passed to Lineta. At the first moment 
he had a feeling that from that vileness in the house of 
the Osnovskis, and from that doubt which was born in his 
heart, a certain shadow fell on her also. Aftera while he 
began, however, to cast out that feeling as though it were 
profanation, treason against innocence, treason against a 
being as pure as she was beloved, and defiling in thought 
her and her angelic plumage. Indignation at himself 
seized him. ‘Does such a dove even think evil?” asked 

27 


some kind of 
conceals the usual 
usual vileness of life, 


418 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


he, in his soul. And his love rose still more at the thought 
that “such a super-pure child” must come in contact with 
such depravity. He would take her with the utmost 
haste possible from Pani Osnovski’s, guard her from that 
woman’s influence, seize her in his arms, and bear her 
from that house, in which her innocent eyes might be 
opened on evil and depravity. A certain demon whis- 
pered at moments to his ear, it is true, that Qsnovski, too, 
believes as he does, and that he would give his own blood 
in pledge for his wife’s honesty; he too would count 
every doubt a profanation of her sacredness. But Pan 
Ignas drove away those whisperings with dread. ‘‘It is 
enough to look into her eyes,” said he; and at the mere 
thought of those eyes, he was ready to beat his own breast, 
as if he had sinned most grievously. He was also angry at 
himself because he had come out, because he had not 
waited for Pani Bronich, and had not strengthened him- 
self with the sight of Lineta. He remembered now how 
he had pressed her hand to his lips; how she, changing 
from emotion, said to him, “Speak with aunt.” How 
much angelic simplicity and purity there was -in those 
words! what honesty of a soul, which, loving, wishes to 
be free to love before the whole world! Pan Ignas, when 
he thought of this, was seized by a desire to return; but 
he felt that he was too much excited, and that he could 
not explain his former presence if the servant should 
mention it. 

Then again the picture rose before his eyes of Kopovski 
kneeling to Pani Osnovski; and he fell to inquiring of him- 
self what he was to do in view of this, and how he was to 
act. Warn Osnovski? he rejected this thought at once 
with indignation. Shut himself in with Pani Osnovyski, 
and give her a sermon, eye to eye? She would show him 
the door. After a time it came to his head to threaten 
Kopovski, and force from him a promise to cease visiting 
the Osnovskis. But soon he saw that that, too, was use- 
less. Kopovski, if he had even a small share of courage, 
would give him the lie, challenge him; in such a case he 
would have to be silent, and people would think that the 
scandal rose because of Panna Castelli. Pan Ignas was 
sorry for Osnovski; he had conceived for the man a true 
friendship, and, on the other hand, he was too young to 
be reconciled at once with the thought that evil and human 
erookedness were to continue unpunished. Ah! but if at 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 419 


that juncture he could have counselled with some one, — 
for instance, with Pan Stanislav or Marynia. But that 
could not be. And after long thought he resolve: 
all in himself, and be silent. ; 

At the same time, from the passionate prayer of Kopovski 
and the answer of Pani Aneta, he inferred that the evil 
might not have passed yet into complete fall. He did not 
know women; but he had read no little about them. He 
knew that there exists some for whom the form of evil has 
more charm than the substance; that there are women 
devoid of moral sense, but also of passion, who have just 
as much desire for a prohibited adventure as they have 
repugnance to complete fall, —in a word, those who are 
incapable of loving anybody, who deceive their lovers as 
well as their husbands. He recalled the words of a certain 
Frenchman: “If Eve had been Polish, she would have 
plucked the apple, but not eaten it.” A similar type 
seemed to him Pani Aneta; vice might be in her as super: 
ficial as virtue, and in such case the forbidden relation 
might annoy her very soon, especially with a man like 
Kopovski. 

Here, however, Pan Ignas lost the basis of reasoning 
and the key to the soul of Pani Aneta. He would have 
understood relations with any other man more readily than 
with Kopovski, — that archangel with the brains of an 
idiot. “A poodle understands more of what is said to 
him,” thought Pan Ignas; “and a woman with such aspira- 
tions to reason, to science, to art, to the understanding of 
every thought and feeling, could lower herself for such a 
head!” He could not explain this to himself, even with 
what he had read about women. 

And still reality said more definitely than all books 
that it was so. Suddenly Pan Ignas remembered what 
Osnovski had said to him about their fear lest that fool 
might have plans against Castelka, that the mention of 
this had angered Pani Aneta immensely, and that she 
filled Lineta’s head with feeling for another. So then, for 
Pani Aneta the question consisted in this, that Kopovski 
should not pay court to Lineta. She wanted to save him 
for herself. Here Pan Ignas shivered all at once, for the 
thought struck him, that if that were true, Kopovski must 
have had some chance of success; and again a shadow pur- 
sued the bright form of Lineta. If that were true, she 
would fall in his eyes to the level of Pani Aneta. After a 


lL to bury 


420 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


time he felt bitterness in his mouth and fire in his brain. 
Anger sprang upon him, hke a tempest; he could not for- 
give her this, and the very suspicion would have poisoned 
him. Halting again on the street, he felt that he must 
throttle that thought in himself, or go mad from it. 

In tact, he put it down so effectively that he recognized 
himself as the lowest fool for this alone, — that the thought 
could come to him. ‘That Lineta was incapable of loving 
Kopovski was shown best by this, —that she had fallen in 
love with him, Pan Ignas; and the fears and suspicions of 
Pani Aneta flowed only from the self-love of a vain woman, 
who was afraid that another might be recognized as more 
attractive and beautiful than she was. Pan Ignas had the 
feeling of having pushed from his breast a stone, which 
had oppressed him. He began then in spirit to implore 
on his knees pardon of the unspotted one; and thenceforth 
his thoughts touching her were full of love, homage, and 
contrition. 

Now he made the remark to himself that evil, though 
committed by another, bears evil; how many foul thoughts 
had passed through his mind only because he had seen a 
fool at the feet of a giddy head! He noted that considera- 
tion down in his memory. 

When near his lodgings he met Pan Stanislay with Pani 
Mashko on his arm; and that day had so poisoned him that 
a sudden suspicion flashed through his mind. But Pan 
Stanislav recognized him in the light of the moon anda 
lamp, and had no desire to hide evidently, for he stopped 
him. 

“Good-evening,” said he. ‘“ Why home so early to-day?” 

“T was at Pani Bronich’s, and I am just strolling about, 
for the evening is beautiful.” 

‘Then step in to us. As soon as I conduct this lady 
home, I will return. My wife has not seen you this long 
time.” 

“T will go,” said Pan Ignas. 

And a desire to see Pani Marynia had seized him really. 
So many thoughts and feelings had rushed through him 
that he was weary; and he knew that the calm and kind 
face of Marynia would act on him soothingly. 

Soon he rang the bell at Pan Stanislav’s. When he had 
entered, he explained, after the greeting, that he came at 
the request of her husband, to which she answered, — 

“Of course! I am very glad. My husband at this 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 421 


moment is escorting home Pani Mashko, who visited 
me, but he will return to tea. The Bigiels will be here 
surely, and perhaps my father will come, if he has not 
gone to the theatre.” 

Then she indicated a place at the table to him, and, 
straightening the lamp shade, began on the work with 
which she was occupied previously, — making little rosettes 
of narrow red and blue ribbons, of which there was a pile 
lying before her. 

“What are you making?” asked Pan Ignas. 

“Rosettes. They are sewed to various costumes.” 

After a while she added, — 

“But this is far more interesting, — what are you doing? 
Do you know that all Warsaw is marrying you to Lineta 
Castelli? They have seen you both in the theatre, at the 
races; they see you at the promenades; and it is impossible 
to persuade them that the affair is not decided already.” 

**Since I have spoken with you so openly, I will tell you 
now that it is almost decided.” 

Marynia raised to him eyes enlivened with a smile and 
with curiosity. 

“Is that true? Ah, that is a perfect piece of news! 
May God give you such happiness as we wish you! ” 

Then she stretched her hand to him, and afterward 
inquired with roused curiosity, — 

“Have you spoken with Lineta?” 

Pan Ignas told her how it was, and acknowledged his 
conversation with Lineta and with Osnovski; then, letting 
himself be borne away in the narrative, he confessed every- 
thing that had happened to him — how, from the beginning, 
he had observed, criticised, and struggled with himself; 
how he had not dared to hope; how he had tried to drive 
that feeling from his head, or rather, from his heart, and 
how he could not resist it. He assured her that he had 
promised himself a number of times to cut short the 
acquaintance and the visits, but strength failed him each 
time; each time he saw with amazement that the whole 
world, the whole object of his life, was there; that without 
her, without Lineta, he would not know what to do with 
his life —and he went back to her. 

Pan Ignas had not observed himself less truthfully, but 
he criticised and struggled less than he said. He spoke 
sincerely, however. He added at the end that he knew 
with certainty that he loved, not his own feelings involved 





422 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


in Lineta, but Lineta herself, for herself, and that she was 
the dearest person on earth to him. 

“Think,” said he, “others have families, mothers, sisters, 
brothers; I, except my unfortunate father, have no one, 
and therefore my love for the whole world is centred 
in her.” 

“True,” said Marynia; “that had to come.” 

“This seems a dream to me,” continued he; “it cannot 
find place in my head that she will be my wife really. 
At times it seems to me that this cannot happen; that 
something will intervene; that all will be lost.” 

In fact, this feeling was strengthened in him by exalta- 
tion, to which he was more inclined than other men, and 
at last he began to tremble nervously; then he covered his 
eyes with his hands, and said, — 

* You see I must shield my eyes to imagine this properly. 
Such happiness! such fabulous happiness! What does a 
man seek in life, and in marriage? Just that, and in its 
own course that exceeds his strength. I do not know 
whether I am so weak or what? but I say sincerely that 
at times breath fails me.” 

Marynia placed her rosette on the table, and, putting her 
hands on it, looked at him for a while, then said, — 

“You are a poet, and are carried away too much; you 
should look more calmly. Listen to what I will tell you. 
I have a little book from my mother, in which, while she 
was sick and without hope of recovery, she wrote for me 
what she thought was good. About marriage she wrote 
down something which later I have not heard from any 
one, and have not read in any book, —that is, that one 
should not marry to be happy, but to accomplish those 
duties which God imposes at marriage; and that happi- 
ness is only an addition, a gift of God. You see how 
simple this is; and still it is true that not only have I 
not heard it since, but I have not seen any woman or any 
man about to marry who thought more of duty than of 
happiness. Remember this, and repeat it to Lineta, — will 
you?” 

Pan Ignas looked at her with atonishment. 

“Do you know this is so simple that really it will never 
come to any one’s mind?” 

She laughed a little sadly, and, taking her rosette, began 
again to sew. After a while she repeated, — 

“Tell that to Lineta.” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 423 


And she sewed on, drawing out with quick movement 
her somewhat thin hand, together with the needle. 

“You will understand that if one has such a principle in 
the heart, one has perpetual peace, more joyous, oy saddde 
as God grants, but still deep. But without that there " 
only a kind of feverish happiness, and deceptions always 
at hand, even if only for this reason, — that happiness 
may be different from what we imagine it.” And she 
sewed on. 

He looked at her inclined head, at her moving hand, at 
her work; he heard her voice; and it seemed to him that 
that peace of which she had spoken was floating above her, 
was filling the whole atmosphere, was suspended above the 
table, was burning mildly in the lamp, and finally, was 
entering him. 3 

_He was so occupied with himself, with his love, that it 
did not even occur to him that her heart could be sad. 
Meanwhile he was penetrated, as it were, by a double 
astonishment: first, that these truths which she had told 
him were such an a, 6, ¢, that they ought to lie on the 
very surface of every thought; and second, that in spite of 
this, his own thought had not worked them out of itself, 
or, at least, had not looked at them. “What is that,” 
thought he, “our wisdom, bookish in comparison with that 
simple wisdom of an honest woman’s heart?” Then, re- 
calling Pani Aneta, and looking at Marynia, he began this 
monologue in his soul, “That woman and this woman!” 
And suddenly there came to him immense solace; all his 
disturbed thoughts settled down to their level. He felt 
that he was resting while looking at that noble woman. 
“Tn Lineta,” said he to himself, “there is the same calm- 
ness, the same simplicity, and the same honesty.” 

Now Pan Stanislav came, a little later the Bigiels, after 
which the violoncello was brought. At tea Pan Stanislav 
spoke of Mashko. Mashko conducted the suit against the 
will with all energy, and it advanced, though there were 
difficulties at every step. ‘The advocate on the side of the 
benevolent institutions — that young Sledz (herring), whom 
Mashko promised to sprinkle with pepper, cover with oil, 
and swallow —turned out not to be so easily eaten as had 
seemed. Pan Stanislav heard that he was a man cool, 
resolute, and at the same time a skilled lawyer. 

“What is amusing, withal,” said he, ‘‘is, that Mashko, 
as Mashko, considers himself a kind of patrician, who is 


424 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


fighting with a plebeian, and says this will be a test of 
whose blood is thicker. It is a pity that Bukatski is not 
living; this would give him amusement.” 

“But is Mashko in St. Petersburg all this time?” asked 
Bigiel. 

“He returns to-day; for that reason she could not stay 
for the evening,” answered Pan Stanislav; after a while 
he added, “I had in my time a prejudice against her; but 
I have convinced myself that she is not a bad woman, and, 
besides, is poor.” 

“How poor? Mashko hasn’t lost the case yet,” said 
Pani Bigiel. 

“But he is always from home. Pani Mashko’s mother 
is in an optical hospital in Vienna, and will lose her 
eyes, perhaps. Pani Mashko is alone whole days, like a 
hermitess. I say that I had a prejudice against her, but 
now I am sorry for her.” 

“Tt is true,” said Marynia, “that since marriage she has 
become far more sympathetic.” 

“Yes,” answered Pan Stanislav; “and besides she has 
lost no charm. Red eyes injured her formerly; but now 
the redness has vanished, and she is as maiden-like as 
ever.” 

“ But it is unknown whether Mashko is equally pleased 
with that,” remarked Bigiel. . 

Marynia was anxious to tell those present the news about 
Pan Ignas; but since he was not betrothed yet officially, 
she did not know that it might be mentioned. When, 
however, after tea, Pani Bigiel began to inquire of him 
how the matter stood, he himself said that it was as good 
as finished, and Marynia put in her word announcing that 
the matter stood in this form, —that they might congratu- 
late Pan Ignas. All began then to press his hand with that 
true friendship which they had for him, and genuine glad- 
ness possessed all. Bigiel, from delight, kissed Pani 
Bigiel; Pan Stanislav commanded to bring glasses and a 
bottle of champagne, to drink the health of the “most 
splendid couple” in Warsaw; Pani Bigiel began to joke 
with Pan Ignas, predicting what the housekeeping of a 
poet and an artist would be. He laughed; but was really 
moved by this, that his dreams were beginning to be real. 

A little later, Pan Stanislav punched him, and said, — 

“The happiness of God, but I will give you one advice: 
what you have in poetry, put into business, into work; 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 425 


be a realist in life, and remember that marriage is no 
romance.” 

But he did not finish, for Marynia put her hand suddenly 
over his mouth, and said, laughing, “Silence, thou wise 
head!” 

And then to Pan Ignas, ‘‘ Don’t listen to this grave pate: 
make no theories beforehand for yourself; only love.” 

“True, Pani, true,” answered Pan Ignas. 

“Tn that case, buy a harp for yourself,” added Pan Stan- 
islav, jeeringly. 

At mention of the harp, Bigiel seized his violoncello, say- 
ing that they ought to end such an evening with music. 
Marynia sat at the piano, and they began one of Handel’s 
serenades. Pan Ignas had the impression that the soul was 
going out of him. He took those mild tones into himself, 
and was flying amid the night, lulling Lineta to sleep with 
them. Late in the evening, he came out, as if strengthened 
with the sight of those worthy people. 


426 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL 


CHAPTER XLVI. 


Marynta had such peace “as God gave,” but really 
deep. A great aid to finding it was that voice from beyond 
the grave, —the little book, yellowed by years, in which 
she read “ that a woman should not marry to be happy, but 
to fulfil the duties which God imposes on her then.” 
Marynia, who looked frequently into this lttle book, had 
read more than once those lines before that; but real mean- 
ing they had taken on for her only of late, in that spiritual 
process through which she had passed after her return 
from Italy. It ended in this way, that she was not only 
reconciled with fate, but at present she did not admit 
even the thought that she was unhappy. She repeated to 
herself that it was a happiness different, it is true, from 
what she had imagined, but none the less real. It is cer- 
tain that, if God had given her the power of arranging 
people’s hearts, she would have wished “Stas” to show her, 
not more honor, but more of that tenderness of which he 
was capable, and which he had shown in her time to Litka; 
that his feeling for her might be less sober, and have in it 
a certain kernel of poetry which her own love had. But, 
on the other band, she cherished always somewhere, in 
some little corner of her heart,— first, the hope that that 
might come to pass ; and, second, she thought in her soul 
that, even if it did not, then, as matters stood, she ought to 
thank God for having given her a brave and honest man, 
_whom she could not only love, but esteem. More than once 
she stopped to compare him with others, and could not find 
any one to sustain the comparison. Bigiel was worthy, but 
he had not that dash; Osnovski, with all his goodness, 
lacked practical knowledge of hfe and work; Mashko was 
a person a hundred times lower in everything; Pan Ignas 
seemed to her rather a genial child than a man, — in a word, 
from every comparison “Stas” came out always victori- 
ous, and the one result was that she felt for him an increasing 
trust as to vital questions, and loved him more and more. At 
the same time, while denying herself, subjecting to him her 
own J, bringing in sacrifice her imaginings and her selfish- 
ness, she had the feeling that she was developing more and 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 427 


more in a spiritual sense, that she was perfecting herself, 
that she was becoming better, that she was not descending 
to any level, but rising to some height, whence the soul 
would be nearer to God; and all at once she saw that in 
such a feeling lies the whole world of happiness. Pan 
Stanislav at that time was away from home often, there- 
fore she was alone frequently ; and, more than once, she 
reasoned with the great simplicity of an honest woman: 
“People should strive to be better and better; but if I am 
not worse than I was, itis well. Were it otherwise, maybe 
I should be spoiled.” She did not come, however, to the 
thought that there was more wisdom in this than in all the 
ideas and talks of Pani Osnovski. It seemed to her natu- 
ral, too, that she had less charm at that time for “Stas” 
than formerly. Looking into her mirror, she said to her- 
self: “ Well, the eyes do not change, but what a figure ! 
what a face! If I were Stas, I would run out of the 
house!” And she thought an untruth, for she would not 
have run out; but it seemed to her that in this way she was 
increasing “Stas’s” merit. She got comfort, too, from Pani 
Bigiel, who said that afterward she would be fairer than 
ever, “just like some young girl.” And, at times, joy and 
thankfulness rose in her heart, because all is so wisely 
arranged; and if, at first, one is a little uglier and must 
suffer a little, not only does all return, but, as a reward, 
there is a beloved “ bobo” which attaches one to life, and 
creates a new bond between wife and husband. In this 
way, she had times, not only of peace, but simply of joy- 
fulness, and sometimes she said to Pani Bigiel, — 

“ Dost thou know what I think? —it is possible to be 
happy always, only we must fear God.” 

“What has one to do with the other?” asked Pani 
Bigiel, who from her husband had gained a love of clear 
thinking. 

“ This,” answered Marynia, — “that we should rest with 
what He gives us, and not importune Him, because He 
has n’t given that which seems to us better.” 

Then she added joyously, ‘We must n’t tease for happi- 
ness.” And both began to laugh. 

Frequently, too, in the tenderness almost exaggerated 
which Pan Stanislav showed his wife, it was clearly 
evident that he was thinking chiefly of the child; but 
Marynia did not take that ill of him now. In truth, she 
never had; but at present she was willing to count it a 


428 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


merit in him, for she thought it the duty of both to care 
above all for the child, as for their future mutual love. 
Yielding up daily in this way something of her own 
care for self, she gained more and more peace, more and 
more calmness; these feelings were reflected in her eyes, 
which were more beautiful than ever. Her main anxiety 
now was that it should be a daughter. She was ready even 
in this to yield to the will of God, but she feared “Stas” a 
little ; and one day she asked him in jest, — 

“Stas, and thou wilt not kill me if it is a son? ” 

“No,” answered he, laughing and kissing her hand; “ but 
I should prefer a daughter.” 

“But I have heard from Pani Bigiel that men always 
prefer sons.” 

“ But [am such a man that I prefer a daughter.” 

Not always, however, were her thoughts so joyous. At 
times it came to her head that she might die, for she knew 
that death happens in such cases; and she prayed earnestly 
that it should not happen, for first she feared it, second, she 
would be sorry to go away, even to heaven, when she had 
such a prospect of loving, and finally she imagined to her- 
self that “Stas” would mourn for her immensely. And at 
that thought she grew as tender over him as if he had been 
at that moment a man more deserving of pity than al 
other unfortunates living. Never had she spoken to him 
of this, though it seemed to her that sometimes he had 
feared it. 

But she deceived herself thoroughly. The doctor, who 
came to Marynia weekly, assured both her and her husband 
after each visit that all was and would be most regular; 
hence Pan Stanislav had no fear for his wife’s future. 
The cause of his alarm was something quite different, 
which happily for herself Marynia had not suspected, and 
which Pan Stanislav himself had not dared even to name 
in his own mind. For some time something had begun to 
go wrong in his life calculations, of which he had been so 
proud, and which had given him such internal security. A 
little while before he had considered that his theories of 
life were like a house built of firm timbers, resting on solid 
foundations. In his soul he was proud of that house, and 
in secret exalted himself above those who had not the 
skill to build anything like it. Speaking briefly, he thought 
himself a better life architect than others. He judged that 
the labor was finished from foundation to summit, only go 


we 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 429 


in, live, and rest there. He forgot that a human soul 
like a bird when it has soared to a given height, not only 
1s not free to rest, but must work its wings hard to support 
itself, otherwise the very first temptation will bring it to 
the earth again. 7 

The worse and vainer the temptation, the more was he 
enraged at himself because he gave way to it, A 
desire, a low object, — he had not even anything to explain 
to himself ; and still the walls of his house had begun to 
crack, Pan Stanislav was a religious man now, and that from 
conviction ; he was too sincere with himself to enter into 
a compromise with his own principles, and say to himself 
that such things happen even to the firmest of believers. 
No! He was by nature a man rather unsparing, and logic 
said to him “either, or; ” hence he felt that speaking thus 
it spoke justly. Hitherto he had not given way to temp- 
tation; but still he was angry because he was tempted, for 
temptation brought him to doubt his own character. Con- 
sidering himself as better than others, he stood suddenly 
in face of the question, was he not worse than others, for 
not only had temptation attacked him, but he felt that ina 
given case he might yield to it. 

More than once, while looking at Pani Osnovski, he re- 
peated to himself the opinion of Confucius: “ An ordinary 
woman has as much reason asa hen; an extraordinary woman 
as much as two hens.” In view of Pani Mashko, it occurred 
to him that there are women with reference to whom this 
Chinese truth, which makes one indignant, is flattery. Had 
it been at least possible to say of Pani Mashko that she 
was honestly stupid, it would become a certain individual 
trait of hers; but she was not. <A few, or a few tens of 
formulas had made of her a polite nonentity. Just as two 
or three hundred phrases make up the whole language of the 
inhabitants of New Guinea, and satisfy all their wants, so 
those formulas satified Pani Mashko as to social relations, 
thoughts, and life. For that matter, she was as completely 
passive within that shade of automatic dignity which nar- 
rowness of mind produces, and a blind faith that if proper 
formalities are observed, there can be no error. Pan Stan- 
islav knew her as such, and as such ridiculed her more than 
once while she was unmarried. He called her a puppet, a 
manikin ; he felt enraged at her because of that doctor who 
had perished for her in some place where pepper grows; 
he disregarded her and did not like her. But even then, as 


mean 


430 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


often as he saw her, whether at the Bigiels’,or when on 
Mashko’s business he went to Pani Kraslavski, he always 
returned under the physical impression which she made on 
him, of which he gave himself an account. That quenched 
face, that passive, vegetable calm of expression, that cold- 
ness of bearing, that frequent reddening of the eyes, that 
slender form, had in them something which affected him 
unusually. He explained that to himself then by some law 
of natural selection; and when he had outlined the thing 
technically, he stopped there, for the impression which 
Marynia had made on him was still greater, hence he had 
followed it. At present, however, Marynia was his, and he 
had grown used to her beauty, which, moreover, had disap- 
peared for a period. It so happened that because of 
Mashko’s frequent journeys, he saw Pani Mashko almost 
daily, in consequence of which former impressions not only 
revived, but, in the conditions in which Pan Stanislav found 
himself with reference to Marynia, they revived with unex- 
pected vigor. And it happened finally that he who would 
not consent to be in leading strings for the ten times more 
beautiful and charming Pani Osnovski; he, who had resisted 
her Roman fantasies; he, who had looked on himself as a 
man of principles, stronger in character and firmer in mind 
than most people,—saw now that if Pani Mashko wished 
to push that edifice with her foot, all its bindings might 
be loosened, and the ceiling tumble on his head. Of a 
certainty, he would not cease to love his wife, for he was 
sincerely and profoundly attached to her; but he felt that 
he might be in a condition to betray her,—and then not 
only her, but himself, his principles, his conceptions of 
what an honest and a moral man should be. With a certain 
terror as well as anger, he found in himself not merely the 
human beast, but a weak beast. He was alarmed by this, 
he rebelled against this weakness; but still he could not 
overcome it. It was a simple thing in view of this, not to 
see Pani Mashko, or to see her as seldom as possible ; mean- 
while he was finding reasons to see her the oftenest possible. 
At first he wanted to lull himself with these reasons; but, 
in view of his innate consistency, that was impossible, 
and it ended with this, that he merely invented them. 
Straightway, he deceived with them his wife, and whomever 
he wished. When in company with Pani Mashko, he could 
not refrain from looking at her, from embracing with his 
glance her face and whole person. A sickly curiosity seized 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL, 431 


him as to how she would bear herself in case he appeared be- 
fore her with what was happening within him. What would 
she say then? And he took pleasure in spite of himself in 
supposing that she would bear herself with perfect passive- 
ness. He despised her beforehand for this; but she became 
the more desired by him thereby. In himself he discovered 
whole mountains of depravity, which he referred to long 
stay in foreign countries ; ‘and, having considered himself up 
to that time a fresh and healthy nature, he began to grow 
alarmed. Had he not been deceived in himself, and was not 
that wonderful impression produced on him by a being so 
little attractive the appearance of some neurosis consum- 
ing him without his knowledge? It had not occurred to 
him that there might exist even such conditions in which 
the soul of a man simply despises a woman, but the human 
beast longs for her. 

In her, instinct bad taken the place of mental keenness; 
besides, she was not so naive as not to know what his glance 
meant as it slipped over her form, or what his eyes said 
when talking, especially when they were alone, and he looked 
into her face with a certain persistence. At first she felt a 
kind of satisfaction for her self-love, which it is difficult for 
even an honest woman to resist when she sees the impres- 
sion produced by her; when she feels herself distinguished, 
desired beyond others, — in a word, victorious. Besides, she 
was ready not to recognize and not to see the danger, just 
as a partridge does not wish to see it, when it hides its head 
in the snow, on feeling the hawk circling above it. For Pani 
Mashko appearances were this snow ; and Pan Stanislay 
felt that. He knew also from his experience as a single 
man that there are women for whom it is a question above 
all of preserving certain, frequently even strange, appear- 
ances. He remembered some who burst out in indignation 
when he said to them in Polish that which they heard in 
French with a smile; he had met even those who were un- 
approachably firm at home and in the city, and so free in 
summer residences, at watering, or bathing places, and 
others who endured an attempt, but could not endure words, 
and others for whom the decisive thing was light or dark- 
ness. In all places where virtue did not come from the 
soul, and from principles ingrafted like vaccination into the 
blood, resistance or fall depended on accident or surround- 
ings, or external, frequently favoring circumstances, per- 
sonal ideas of polite appearances. He judged that it might 


432 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


be thus with Pani Mashko; and if hitherto he had not 
entered the road of testing and trying, it was simply because 
he was battling with himself, because he did not wish to 
give way, and, despising her in the bottom of his soul, he 
wished to escape the position of despising himself. Attach- 
ment to Marynia restrained him too, and sympathy, as it 
were, mingled with respect for her condition and gratitude 
to her, and the hope of fatherhood, which moved him, and 
a remembrance of the shortness of the time which they had 
lived together, and honesty, and a religious feeling. These 
were chains, as it were, at which the human beast was 
still tugging. 

They did not hold, however, with equal strength always. 
Once, and, namely, that evening on which Pan Ignas had 
met them, he had almost betrayed himself. At the thought 
that Mashko was returning and that Pani Mashko was 
hastening home, therefore, a low, purely physical jealousy 
seized him; and he said with a certain anger, repressed, but 
visible, — 

“True! I understand your haste! Ulysses is coming, and 
Penelope must be at home, but — ” 

Here he felt a desire to curse. 

“But what?” inquired Pani Mashko. 

Pan Stanislav answered without any hesitation, — 

“ Just to-day I wished to detain you longer.” 

“Jt is not proper,” answered she briefly, with a voice as 
thin as though strained through a sieve. 

And in that, “It is not proper,” was her whole soul. 

He returned, cursing earnestly her and himself. When 
he reached home he found in the clear, peaceful room 
Marynia and Pan Ignas, she proving to the poet that when 
they marry, people should not look for some imagined 
happiness, but the duties which God imposes at that time. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 433 


CHAPTER XLVII. 


‘Wuat is Pani Osnovski to me, and what are all her 
affairs to me?” said Pan Ignas to himself next morning on 
the way to Pani Bronich’s: “I am not going to marry her, 
but my own one. Why did I so tear and torment myself 
yesterday ? ” } 

And when he had said this “to his lofty soul,” he began 
to think only of what he would say to Pani Bronich; for in 
spite of Osnovski’s assurances, in spite of every hope that 
that conversation would be merely a certain form for obser- 
vance, in spite of his confidence in Lineta’s heart and the 
kindness of Pani Bronich, the “lofty soul” was in fear. 

He found aunt and niece together; and, emboldened by 
yesterday, he pressed to his lips the hand of the young 
lady, who said, blushing slightly, — 

“ But I will run away.” 

“ Nitechka, stop! ” said Pani Bronich. 

“ No,” answered she; “I fear this gentleman, and I fear 
aunt.” 

Thus speaking, she began to rub her golden head, like 
a petted kitten, against the shoulder of Pani Bronich, 
saying, — 

“Do not wrong him aunt; do not wrong him.” 

And looking at him, she ran away really. Pan Ignas, 
from emotion and excess of love, was as pale as linen; Pani 
Bronich had tears on her lids. And, seeing that his throat 
was so pressed that it would have been easier for him to 
ery than to talk, she said, — 

“TI know why you have come. I have noticed this long 
time what was passing between you, my children.” 

Pan Ignas seized her hands, and began to press them to 
his lips one after the other; she on her part continued, — 

“Oh, I myself have felt too much in life not to know 
real feelings ; I will say more: it is my specialty. Women 
live only by the heart, and they know how to divine hearts. 
I know that you love Nitechka truly; and I am certain 
that if she did not love you, or if I should refuse her to 
you, you would not survive. Is it not true ?” 

28 


434 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Here she gazed at him with an inquiring glance, and he 
said with effort, — 

* Beyond doubt! I know not what would happen to 
me.” 

“T guessed that at once,” answered she, with radiant face. 
“Ah, my dear friend, a look is enough for me; but I shall 
not be an evil spirit as your genius. No, I shall not, I can- 
not be that. Whom shall I find for Nitechka? Where a 
man worthy of her? Who would have in him all that she 
loves and esteems chiefly? I cannot give her to Kopovski, 
and I will not. You perhaps do not know Nitechka as I 
do; but I cannot and will not give her.” 

In spite of all his emotion, that energy with which Pani 
Bronich refused “ Nitechka’s” hand to Kopovski aston- 
ished Pan Ignas, just as if he had declared for Kopovski, 
not for himself; and the aunt continued, moved, but evi- 
dently enjoying her own words and delighted with the 
position, — 

“No! there can be no talk of Kopovski. You alone can 
make Nitechka happy. You alone can give her what she 
needs. I knew yesterday that you would talk with me to- 
day. I did not close an eye the whole night. Do not 
wonder at that. Here it is a question of Nitechka, and I 
was hesitating yet; therefore fear seized me in view of to- 
day’s conversation, for I knew in advance that I would not 
resist you, that you would bear me away with your feeling 
and your eloquence, as yesterday you bore away Nitechka.” 

Pan Ignas, who neither yesterday nor to-day was able to 
buzz out one word, could not explain somehow to himself 
in what specially lay the power of his eloquence, or when 
he had time to exhibit it; but Pani Bronich did not 
permit him to hesitate longer on this question. 

“And do you know what F did? This is what I do always 
in life’s most serious moments. Speaking yesterday with 
Nitechka, I went early this morning to the grave of my 
husband. He is lying here in Warsaw —I know not 
whether I have told you that he was the last descendant of 
Rurik — Ah, yes, I have! Oh, dear friend, whata refuge 
for me that grave is; and how many good inspirations I 
have brought from it! Whether it was a question of the 
education of Nitechka, or of some journey, or of investing 
eapital which my husband left me, or of a loan which 
some one of my relatives or acquaintances wished to make, 
I went there directly at all times. And will you believe 





CHILDREN OF 'THE SOIL. 435 


me? More than once a mortgage is offered: it seems a 
good one; the business is perfect; more than once my heart 
even commands me to give or to lend, — but my husband, 
there in the depth of “his eternal rest, answers: ‘Do not 
give, and I give not. And never has evil resulted, Oh, 
my dear, you “who feel and understand everything, you will 
understand how to-day I pray ed, how I asked with all 
the powers of my soul, ‘Give Nitechka, or 
Nitechka ?’ ” 

Here she seized Pan Ignas’s temples with her hands, and 
said through her tears, — 

“ But my Teodor answered, ‘Give “Fs 
to thee, and my blessing besides. 

Tears quenched indeed further conversation in Pani 
Bronich. Pan Ignas knelt before her; “ Nitechka,” who 
came in, as if at a fixed moment, dropped on her knees at 
his side; Pani Bronich stretched her hands and 
sobbing, — 

“She is thine, thine! I give her to thee; I and Teodor 
give her.” 

Then the three rose. Aunt Bronich covered her eyes with 
her handkerchief, and remained some time without motion; 
gradually, however, she slipped away the handkerchief, 
looking from one side at the two young people. Suddenly 
she laughed, and, threatening with her finger, said, — 

. “Oi! I know what you would lke now,—you would 
like to be alone. Surely you have something to say to each 
other. Is it not true?” 

And she went out. Pan Ignas took Lineta’s hands that 
moment, and looked into her eyes with intoxication. 

They sat down; and she, leaving her hands in his, rested 
her temple on his shoulder. It was like a song without 
words. Pan Ignas inclined his head toward her bright face. 
Lineta closed her eyes; but he was too young and too timid, 
he respected too much and he loved, hence he did not ven- 
ture yet to touch her lips with his. He only kissed her 
golden hair, and even that caused the room in which they 
were sitting to spin with him; the world began to whirl ser 
Then all vanished from his eyes ; ; he lost memory of where 
he was, and what was happening; he heard only the beating 
of his own heart; he felt the odor of the silken hair, which 
brushed his lips, and it seemed to him that in that was the 
universe. 

But that was only a dream from which he had to wake. 


not give 


therefore I give her 


said 


436 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL 


After a certain time the aunt began to open the door gently, 
as if wishing to lose the least possible of the romance, in 
which, with Teodor’s aid, she was playing the role of 
guardian spirit; in the adjoining chamber were heard the 
voices of the Osnovskis; and a moment later Lineta found 
herself in the arms of her aunt, from which she passed into 
the embraces of Pani Aneta. Osnovski, pressing Ignas’s 
hands with all his power, said, — 

“But what a joy in the house, what a joy! for we have 
all fallen in love with thee, —I, and aunt, and Anetka, not 
to speak of this little one.” 

Then he turned to his wife and said, — 

“ Knowest, Anetka, what I wished Ignas, even yesterday ? 
that they should be to each other as we are.” And, seizing 
her hands, he began to kiss them with vehemence. 

Pan Ignas, though he knew not in general what was hap- 
pening to him, found still presence of mind enough to look 
into the face of Pani Aneta; but she answered joyously, 
withdrawing her hands from her husband, — 

“No, they will be happier; for Castelka is not such a 
giddy thing as I, and Pan Ignas will not kiss her hands so 
stubbornly before people. But, Yozio, let me go!” 

‘Let him only love her as I thee, my treasure, my 
child,” answered the radiant Yozio. 

Pan Ignas stayed at Pani Bronich’s till evening, and did 
not go to the counting-house. After lunch he drove out in 
the carriage with the aunt and Lineta, for Pani Bronich 
wanted absolutely to show them to society. But their 
drive in the Alley was not a success altogether, because of 
a sudden hard shower, which scattered the carriages. On 
their return, Pan Osnovski, good as he ever was, made a 
new proposition which delighted Pan Ignas. 

“ Prytulov will not escape us,” said he. ‘We live here 
as if we were half in the country; and since we have re- 
mained till the end of June, we may stay a couple of days 
longer. Let that loving couple exchange rings before our 
departure, and at the same time let it be free to Aneta 
and me to give them a betrothal party. Is it well, aunt? 
I see that they have nothing against it, and surely it will be 
agreeable for Ignas to have at the betrothal his friends the 
Polanyetskis and the Bigiels. It is true that we do not 
visit the latter, but that is nothing! We will visit them 
to-morrow, and the affair will be settled. Is it well, Ignas; 
is it well, aunt ?” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL, 437 


Ignas was evidently in the seventh heaven; as to aunt, 
she didn’t know indeed what eodor’s opinion would be 
in this matter, and she began to hesitate. But she might 
inquire of Teodor yet; and then she remembered that he 
had answered, “Give,” with such a great voice from his 
place of eternal rest that it was impossible to doubt his 
good wishes, — hence she agreed at last to everything. 

After dinner Kopovski, the almost daily guest, came; 
and it turned out that he was the only being in the villa 
to whom news of the feelings and betrothal of the young 
couple did not cause delight. -For a time his face expressed 
indescribable astonishment; at last he said, — 

“T never should have guessed that Panna Lineta would 
marry Pan Ignas.” 

Osnovski pushed Pan Ignas with his elbow, blinked, and 
whispered, with a very cunning mien, — 

“Hast noticed? I told thee yesterday that he was mak- 
ing up to Castelka.” 

Pan Ignas left the villa of the Osnovskis late in the even- 
ing. When he reached home he did not betake himself to 
verses, however, though it seemed to him then that he was 
a kind of harp, the strings of which played of themselves, 
but to the counting-house, to unfinished correspondence 
and accounts. 

At the counting-house all were so pleased with this that 
when the Bigiels returned the visit of the Osnovskis, and 
at the same time made the first visit to Pani Bronich, 
Bigiel said, — 

“The worth of Pan Zavilovski’s poetry is known to you 
ladies, but perhaps you do not know how conscientious a 
man he is. I say this because that is a rare quality among 
us. Since he remained all day with you here, and could 
not be at the counting-house, he asked to have it opened 
by the guard in the night; he took home the books and 
papers in his charge, and did what pertained to him. It is 
pleasant to think that one has to do with such a man, for 
such a man may be trusted.” 

Here, however, the honorable partner of the house of 
Bigiel and Polanyetski was astonished that such high 
praise from his lips made so little impression, and that 
Pani Bronich, instead of showing gladness, replied, — 

“Ah, we hope that in future Pan Zavilovski will be 
able to give himself to labor more in accordance with his 
powers and position.” 


438 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


In general, the impression which both sides brought 
away trom their acquaintance showed that somehow they 
were not at home with each other. Lineta pleased the 
Bigiels, it is true; but he, in going away, whispered to his 
wite, “How comtortably they live for themselves in this 
place!” He had a feeling that the spirit of that whole 
villa was a sort of unbroken holiday, or idling; but he 
was not able at once to express that idea, for he had not 
the gift of ready utterance. 

But Pani Bronich, after their departure, said to 
“ Nitechka,”’ — 

“Of course, of course! They must be excellent people 
—true, perfect people! I am certain — yes, certain —” 

And somehow she did not finish her thought; but 
* Nitechka” must have understood her, however, for she 
said, — 

“But they are no relatives of his.” 

A few days later the relatives, too, made themselves 
heard. Pan Ignas, who, in spite of the wishes of Pani 
Bigiel, had not gone yet with excuses to old Zavilovski, 
received the following letter from him, — 


Pan Wixipcat!— Thou hast scratched me undeservedly, for I 
had no wish to offend thee; and if I say always what I think, it is 
permitted me because I am old. They must have told thee, too, that 
I never name, even to her eyes, thy young lady otherwise than Vene- 
tian half-devil. But how was I to know that thou wert in love and 
about to marry ? I heard of this only yesterday, and only now do I 
understand why thou didst spring out of my sight ; but since I pre- 
fer water-burners to dullards, and since through this devil of a gout 
I cannot go myself to thee to congratulate, do thou come to the old 
man, who is more thy well-wisher than seems to thee. 


After this letter Pan Ignas went that same day, and was 
received cordially, though with scolding, but so kindly that 
this time the old truth-teller pleased him, and he felt in 
him really a relative. 

“May God and the Most Holy Lady bless thee!” said 
the old man. “I know thee little; but I have heard such 
things of thee that I should be glad to hear the like touch- 
ing all Zavilovskis.” 

And he pressed his hand; then, turning to his daughter, 
he said, — 

“He’s a genial rascal, isn’t he?” 

And at parting he inquired, — 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 439 


“But ‘ Teodor,’ didn’t he trouble thee too much? Hei?” 

Pan Ignas, who, as an artist, possessed in a high degree 
the sense of the ridiculous, and to whom in his soul that 
Teodor, too, seemed comical, laughed and auswered, — 

“No. On the contrary, he was on my side.” 

The old man began to shake his head. 

“That is a devil of an accommodating Teodor! Be on 
the lookout for him; he is a rogue.” ‘ 

Pani Bronich had so much genuine respect for the prop- 
erty and social position of old Zavilovski that she visited 
him next day, and began almost to thank him for his 
cordial reception of his relative; but the old man grew 
angry unexpectedly. 

“Do you think that I am some empty talker?” asked 
he. “You have heard from me that poor relatives are a 
plague; and you think that I take it ill of them that they 
are poor. No, you do not know me! _ But, know this, 
when a noble loses everything, and is poor, he becomes 
almost always a sort of shabby fellow. Such is our char- 
acter, or rather, its weakness. But this Ignas, as I hear 
from every side, is a man of honor, though poor; and 
therefore I love him.” 

“And I love him,” answered Pani Bronich. “But you 
will be at the betrothal? ” 

“ (est décidé. Even though I had to be carried.” 

Pani Bronich returned radiant, and at lunch could not 
restrain herself from expressing suppositions which her 
active fancy had begun to create. 

“Pan Zavilovski,” said she, “is a man of millions, and 
greatly attached to the name. I should not be astonished 
at all were he to make our Ignas his heir, if not of the 
chief, of a considerable part of his property, or if he were 
to entail some of his estates in Poznan on him. I should 
not be surprised at all.” 

No one contradicted her, for events like that in the 
world had been seen; therefore after lunch, Pani Bronich, 
embracing Nitechka, whispered in her ear, — 

‘Oi, thou, thou, future heiress! ” 

But in the evening she said to Pan Ignas, — 

“Be not astonished if I so mix up in everything, but I 
am your mamma. So mamma is immensely curious to 
know what kind of ring you are preparing for Nitechka? 
It will be something beautiful, of course. There will be 
so many people at the betrothal. And, besides, you have 


440 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


no idea what a fastidious girl! She is so esthetic even 
in trifles; and she has her own taste, but what a taste! 
ho, ho!” 

“T should like,” answered Pan Ignas, “the stones to be 
of colors denoting faith, hope, and love, for in her is my 
faith, my hope, and my love.” 

‘‘A very pretty idea! have you said this to Nitechka? 
Do you know what? Let there be a pearl in the middle, 
as a sign that she is a pearl. Symbols are in fashion now. 
Have I told you that Pan Svirski, when he gave her 
lessons, called her ‘ La Perla’? Ah, yes, | did. You do 
not know Pan Svirski? He, too— Yozio Osnovksi told 
me that he would come to-morrow. Well, then, asapphire, 
a ruby, an emerald, and in the middle a pearl? Oh, yes! 
Pan Svirski, too— Will you be at the funeral?” 

“Whose funeral?” 

**Pan Bukatski’s. Yozio Osnovski told me that Pan 
Svirski brought home his body.” 

“T did not know him; I have never seen him in my 
life.” 

“That is better; Nitechka would prefer that you had 
not known him. God in His mercy forgive him in spite 
of this, — that for me he was never a sympathetic person, 
and Nitechka could not endure him. But the little one 
will be glad of the ring; and when she is glad, I am glad.” 

The “ Little One” was glad not only of the ring, but of 
life in general. The rdle of an affianced assumed for her 
increasing charm. Beautiful nights came, very clear, 
during which she and Pan Ignas sat together on the 
balcony. Nestling up to each other, they looked at the 
quivering of light on the leaves, or lost their gaze in the 
silver dust of the Milky Way, and the swarms of stars. 
From the acacia, growing under the balcony, there rose 
a strong and intoxicating odor, as from a great censer. 
Their powers seemed to go to sleep in them; their souls, 
lulled by silence, turned into clear light, were scattered in 
some way amidst the depth of night, and were melted into 
unity with the soft moonlight; and so the two, sitting 
hand in hand, half in oblivion, half in sleep, lost well- 
nigh the feeling of separate existence and life, preserving 
a mere semi-consciousness of some sort of general bliss and 
general “exaltation of hearts.” 

Pan Ignas, when he woke and returned to real life, 
understood that moments like those, in which hearts melt 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 441 


in that pantheism of love, and beat with the same pulsa- 
tion with which everything quivers that loves, unites, and 
harmonizes in the universe, form the highest happiness 
which love has the power to give, and so immeasurable 
that were they to continue they would of necessity destroy 
man’s individuality. But, having the soul of an idealist 
he thought that when death comes and frees the human 
monad from matter, those moments change into eternity; 
and in that way he imagined heaven, in which nothing is 
swallowed up, but everything simply united and attuned 
in universal harmony. 

Lineta, it is true, could not move with his flight; but 
she felt a certain turning of the head, as it were, a kind 
of intoxication from his flight, and she felt herself happy 
also. A woman even incapable of loving a man is still 
fond of her love, or, at least, of herself, and her role in it; 
and, therefore, most frequently she crosses the threshold 
of betrothal with delight, feeling at the same time grati- 
tude to the man who opens before her a new horizon of life. 
Besides, they had talked love into Lineta so mightily that 
at last she believed in it. 

And once, when Pan Ignas asked her if she was sure of 
herself and her heart, she gave him both hands, as if with 
effusion, and said, — 

“Oh, truly; now I know that I love.” 

He pressed her slender fingers to his lips, to his fore- 
head, and his eyes, as something sacred; but he was dis- 
quieted by her words, and asked, — 

“Why ‘now’ for the first time, Nitechka? Or has 
there been a moment in which thou hast thought that thou 
couldst not love me?” 

Lineta raised her blue eyes and thought a moment; after 
a while, in the corners of her mouth and in the dimples of 
her cheeks, a smile began to gather. 

“No,” said she; “but I am a great coward, so I was 
afraid. I understand that to love you is another thing 
from loving the first comer.” And suddenly she began to 
laugh. “Oh, to love Pan Kopovski would be as simple as 
bon jour; but you—maybe I cannot express it well, but 
more than once it seemed to me that that is like going up 
on some mountain or some tower. When once at the top, 
a whole world is visible; but before that one must go and 
go, and toil, and I am so lazy.” 

Pan Ignas, who was tall and bony, straightened himself, 
and said, — 


442. CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


‘*When my dear, lazy one is tired, I’ll take her in my 
arms, like a child, and carry her even to the highest.” 

“ And I will shrink up and make myself the smallest,” 
answered Lineta, closing her arms, and entering into the 
role of a little child. 

Pan Ignas knelt before her, and began to kiss the hem of 
her dress. 

But there were little clouds, too, on that sky; the be- 
trothed were not the cause, however. It seemed to the 
young man at times that his feelings were too much observed, 
and that Pani Bronich and Pani Aneta examined too closely 
whether he loves, and how he loves. He explained this, it 
is true, by the curiosity of women, and, in general, by the 
attention which love excites in them; but he would have 
preferred more freedom, and would have preferred that 
they would not help him to love. His feelings he con- 
sidered as sacred, and for him it was painful to make an 
exhibition of them for uninvited eyes; at the same time 
every movement and word of his was scrutinized. He 
supposed also that there must be female sessions, in which 
Pani Bronich and Pani Aneta gave their ‘‘approbatur; ” 
and that thought angered him, for he judged that neither 
was in a Situation to understand his feelings. ‘ 

It angered him also that Kopovski was invited to 
Prytulov, and that he went there in company with all; but 
m this case it was for him a question only of Osnovski, 
whom he loved sincerely. The pretext for the invitation 
was the portrait not finished yet by Lineta. Pan Ignas 


understood now clearly that everything took place at the 


word of Pani Aneta, who knew exactly how to suggest 
her own wishes to people as their own. At times even it 
came to his head to ask Lineta to abandon the portrait; but 
he knew that he would trouble her, as an artist, with that 
request, and, besides, he feared lest people might suspect 
him of being jealous of a fop, like “ Koposio.” 4 


1 Nickname for Kopovski. 


——————————— 
: 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL 440 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 


Svrrsk1 had come indeed from Italy with Bukatski’s 
body; and he went at once on the following day to Pan 
Stanislav’s. He met only Marynia, however, for her hus- 
band had gone outside the city to look at some residence 
which had been offered for sale. The artist found Marynia 
so changed that he recognized her with difficulty; but since 
he had liked her greatly in Rome, he was all the more 
moved at sight of her now. At times, besides, she seemed 
to him so touching and so beautiful in her way, with the 
aureole of future maternity, and besides she had brought 
to him so many artistic comparisons, with so many “types 
of various Italian schools,” that, following his habit, he 
began to confess his enthusiasm audibly. She laughed at 
his originality; bué still it gave her comfort in her trouble, 
and she was glad that he came, — first, because she felt a 
sincere sympathy with that robust and wholesome nature; 
and second, she was certain that he would be enthusiastic 
about her in presence of “Stas,” and thus raise her in the 
eyes of her husband. 

He sat rather long, wishing to await the return of Pan 
Stanislav; he, however, returned only late in the evening. 
Meanwhile there was a visit from Pan Ignas, who, needing 
some one now before whom to pour out his overflowing 
happiness, visited her rather often. For a while he and 
Svirski looked at each other with a certain caution, as 
happens usually with men of distinction, who fear each 
other’s large pretensions, but who come together the more 
readily when each sees that the other is simple. So did it 
happen with these men. Marynia, too, helped to break 
the ice by presenting Pan Ignas as the betrothed of Panna 
Castelli, who was known to Svirski. 

“Indeed,” said Svirski, ‘*I know her perfectly; she is 
my pupil!” 

Then, pressing the hand of Pan Ignas, he said, — 

‘“SVour betrothed has Titian hair; she is a little tall, but 
you are tall, too. Such a pose of head as she has one 
might look for with a candle. You must have noticed that 


444 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


there is something swan-like in her movements; I have 
even called her ‘The Swan.’ ” 

Pan Ignas laughed as sincerely and joyously as a man 
does when people praise that which he loves most in life, 
and said with a shade of boastfulness, — 

“* La Perla,’ do you remember? ” 

Svirski looked at him with a certain surprise. 

“There is such a picture by Raphael in Madrid, in the 
Museum del Prado,” answered he. “Why do you men- 
tion ‘ La Perla’?” 

**It seems to me that I heard of it from those ladies,” 
said Pan Ignas, beaten from the track somewhat. 

“It may be, for I have a copy of my own making in my 
studio Via Margutta.” 

Pan Ignas said in spirit that there was need to be more 
guarded in repeating words from Pani Bronich; and after 
a time he rose to depart, for he was going to his betrothed 
for the evening. Svirski soon followed, leaving with 
Marynia the address of his Warsaw studio, and begging 
that Pan Stanislav would meet him in the matter of the 
funeral as soon as possible. 

In fact, Pan Stanislav went to him next morning. 
Svirski’s studio was a kind of glass hall, attached, like the 
nest of a swallow, to the roof of one in a number of many 
storied houses, and visitors had to reach him by separate 
stairs winding like those in a tower. But the artist had 
perfect freedom there, and did not close his door evi- 
dently, for Pan Stanislav, in ascending, heard a dull sound 
of iron, and a bass voice singing, — 


“Spring blows on the world warmly ; 
Hawthorns and cresses are blooming. 
I am singing and not sobbing, 
For I have ceased to love thee too! 
Hu-ha-hu!” 


“Well,” thought Pan Stanislav, stopping to catch breath, 
“he has a bass, a real, a true bass; but what is he making 
such a noise with?” 

When he had passed the rest of the steps, however, and 
then the narrow corridor, he understood the reason, for he 
saw through the open doors Svirski, dressed to his waist in 
a single knitted shirt, through which was seen his Herculean 
torso; and in his hands were dumb-bells. 

“Oh, how are you?” he called out, putting down the 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. : 445 


dumb-bells in presence of his guest. “I beg pardon that I 
am not dressed, but I was working a little with the dumb- 
bells. Yesterday I was at your house, but found only Pani 
Polanyetski. Well, I brought our poor Bukatski. Is the 
little house ready for him ? ” 

Pan Stanislav pressed his hand. ‘*The grave is ready 
these two weeks, and the cross is set up. We greet you 
cordially in Warsaw. My wife told me that the body is 
in Povanzki already.” : 

“Tt is now in the crypt of the church. ‘To-morrow we’ll 
put it away.” 

“Well, to-day I will speak to the priest and notify ae 
quaintances. What is Professor Vaskovski doing?” 

‘*He was to write you. The heat drove him outof Rome; 
and do you know where he went? Among the youngest 
of the Aryans. He said that the journey would occupy 
two months. He wishes to convince himself as to how 
far they are ready for his historical mission; he has 
gone through Ancona to Fiume, and then farther and 
farther.” 

“The poor professor! I fear that new disillusions are 
waiting for him.” 

“That may be. People laugh at him. I do not know 
how far the youngest of the Aryans are fitted to carry out 
his idea; but the idea itself, as God lives, is so uncommon, 
so Christian, and honest, that the man had to be a Vas- 
kovski to come to it. Permit me to dress. The heat here 
is almost as in Italy, and it is better to exercise in a single 
shirt.” 

“But best not to exercise at all in such heat.” 

Here Pan Stanislav looked at Svirski’s arms and said, — 

“But you might show those for money.” 

“Well; not bad biceps! But look at these deltoids. 
That is my vanity. Bukatski insisted that any one might 
say that I paint like an idiot; but that it was not per- 
mitted any one to say that I could not raise a hundred 
kilograms with one hand, or that I couldn’t hit ten flies 
with ten shots.” 

“And such a man will not leave his biceps nor his 
deltoids to posterity.” 

“Ha! what’s to be done? I fear an ungrateful heart; 
as I love God, I fear it so much. Find me a woman like 
Pani Polanyetski, and I will not hesitate a day. But 


99) 


what should I wish you, —a son or a daughter? 


446 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“A daughter, a daughter! Let there be sons; but the 
first must be a daughter!” 

“ And when do you expect her?” 

“In December, it would seem.” 

“God grant happily! The lady, however, is healthy, so 
there is no fear.” 

“She has changed greatly, has she not?” 

“She is different from what she was, but God grant the 
most beautiful to look so. What an expression! <A pure 
Botticelli. I give my word! Do you remember that por- 
trait of his in the Villa Borghese? Madonna col Bambino 
eangeli. There is one head of an angel, a little inclined, 
dressed in a lily, just like the lady, the very same expres- 
sion. Yesterday that struck me so much that I was moved 
by it.” 

Then he went behind the screen to put on his shirt, and 
from behind the screen he said, — 

“You ask why I don’t marry. Do you know why? I 
remember sometimes that Bukatski said the same thing. I 
have a sharp tongue and strong biceps, but a soft heart; so 
stupid is it that if I had such a wife as you have, and 
she were in that condition, as God lives, I should n’t know 
whether to walk on my knees before her, or to beat the 
floor with my forehead, or to put her on a table, in a corner 
somewhere, and adore her with upraised hands.” 

“ Ai!” said Pan Stanislav, laughing, “that only seems so 
before marriage; but afterward habituation itself destroys 
excess of feeling.” 

‘**T don’t know. Maybe I’m so stupid —” 

“Do you know what? When my Marynia is free, she 
must find for thee just such a wife as she herself is.” 

“ Agreed!” thundered Svirski, from behind the screen. 
“Verbum! I give myself into her hands; and when she says 
‘marry,’ I will marry with closed eyes.” 

And appearing, still without a coat, he began to repeat, 
“ Agreed, agreed! without joking. If the lady wishes.” 

“Women always like that,” answered Pan Stanislav. 
“Have you seen, for instance, what that Pani Osnovski did 
to marry our Pan Ignas to Panna Castelli? And Marynia 
helped her as much as I permitted; she kept her ears open. 
For women that is play.” 

“T made the acquaintance of that Pan Ignas at your 
house yesterday. He is an immensely nice fellow; simply 
a genial head. It is enough to look at him. What a 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL, 447 
profile, and what a woman-like forehead! and with that 
insolent jaw! His shanks are too long, and his knees 
must be badly cut, but his head is splendid.” 

“He is the Benjamin of our counting-house, 
love him surpassingly; his is an honest nature,” 

“e 1Q r > A ree‘ 

Ah! he is youl employee? But I thought he was of 
those rich Zavilovskis; I have seen abroad often enoug] 
certain old original, a rich man.” 

““That is a relative of his,” said Pan Stanislav; 
Zavilovski has n’t a smashed copper.” 

a Well,’ said Svirski, beginning to laugh, ‘told Zavilovski 
with his daughter, the only heiress of millions, a splendid 
figure! In Florence and Rome half a dozen ruined Italian 
princes were dangling around this young lady; but the old 


Indeed, we 


1a 


“but our 


man declared that he wouldn’t give his daughter to a 
foreigner, ‘for,’ said he, ‘they are a race of jesters.’ Im- 


agine to yourself, he considers us the first race on earth, and 
among us, of course, the Zavilovskis; and once he showed 
that in this way: ‘Let them say what they like,’ said 
he; ‘I have travelled enough through the world, and how 
many Germans, Italians, Englishmen, and Frenchmen 
have cleaned boots for me? but I,’ said he, ‘have never 
cleaned boots for any man, and I will not.’” 

“‘Good!” answered Pan Stanislav, laughing; “he thinks 
boot-cleaning not a question of position in the world, but of 
nationality.” 

“Yes, it seems to him that the Lord God created other 
‘nations’ exclusively so that a nobleman from Kutno may 
have some one to clean his boots whenever he chooses to 
go abroad. But doesn’t he turn up his nose at the mar- 
riage of the young man? for I know that he thinks the 
Broniches of small account.” 

“Maybe he turns up his nose; but he has become 
acquainted with our Pan Ignas not long since. They had 
not met before, for ours is a proud soul, and would not 
seek the old man first.” 

“T like him for that. I hope he has chosen well, for —” 

“What! do you know Panna Castelli? What kind of a 
person is she?” 

“T know Panna Castelli; but, you see, I am no judge of 
young ladies. Ba! if I knew them, I would not have 
waited for the fortieth year as a single man. They are 
all good, and all please me; but since I have seen, as 
married women, a. few of those who pleased me, I do not 


448 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


believe inany. And that makes me angry; for if I had 
no wish to marry — well, I should say, leave the matter! 
but I have the wish. What can I know? I know that 
each woman has a corset; but what sort of a heart is inside 
it? The deuce knows! I was in love with Panna Castelli; 
but for that matter I was in love with all whom I met. 
With her, perhaps, even more than with others.” 

“And how is it that a wife did not come to your head?” 

“Ah, the devil didn’t come to my head! But at that 
time I had n’t the money that I have to-day, nor the reputa- 
tion. I was working for something then; and believe me 
that no people are so shy of workers as the children of 
workers. I was afraid that Pan Bronich or Pani Bronich 
might object, and I was not sure of the lady; therefore I 
left them in peace.” 

“Pan Ignas has no money.” 

“But he has reputation, and, besides, there is old Zavi- 
lovski; and a connection like that is no joke. Who among 
us has not heard of the old man? Besides, as to me, to 
tell the truth, I disliked the Broniches to the degree that 
at last I turned from them.” 

“You knew the late Pan Bronich, then? Be not aston- 
ished that I ask, for with me it is a question of our Pan 
Ignas.” 

“Whom have I not known? I knew also Pani Bronich’s 
sister, — Pani Castelli. For that matter I have been 
twenty-four years in Italy, and am about forty, —that is 
said for roundness. In fact, I am forty-five. I knew Pan 
Castelli, too, who was a good enough man; I knew all. 
What shall I say to you? Pani Castelli was an enthusiast, 
and distinguished by wearing short hair; she was always 
unwashed, and had neuralgia in the face. As to Pani 
Bronich, you know her.” 

“But who was Pan Bronich?” 

“* Teodor’? Pan Bronich was a double fool, — first, 
because he was a fool; and second, because he did n’t know 
himself as one. But I am silent, for ‘de mortuis nil nisi 
bonum.’ He was as fat as she is thin; he weighed more 
than a hundred and fifty kilograms, perhaps, and had 
fish eyes. In general, they were people vain beyond 
everything. But why expatiate? When a man lives a 
while in the world, and sees many people, and talks with 
them, as I do while painting, he convinces himself that 
there is really a high society, which rests on tradition, 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 449 


and besides that a canaille, which, having a little money, 
apes great society. The late Bronich and his present 
widow always seemed to me of that race; therefore I chose 
to keep them at a distance. If Bukatski were alive, he 
would let out his tongue now at their expense. He knew 
that I was in love with Panna Castelli; and how he ridi- 
culed me, may the Lord not remember it against him! 
And who knows whether he did not speak justly? for what 
Panna Lineta is will be shown later.” : 

“It concerns me most of all to learn something of her.” 

“They are good, all good; but I am afraid of them and 
their goodness, — unless your wife would go security for 
some of them.” : 

At this point the conversation stopped, and they began 
to talk of Bukatski, or rather, of his burial of the day 
following, for which Pan Stanislav had made previously 
all preparations. 

On the way from Svirski’s he spoke to the priest again, 
and then informed acquaintances of the hour on the 
morrow. 

The church ceremony of burial had taken place at Rome 
m its own time, so Pan Stanislav, as a man of religious 
feeling, invited a few priests to join their prayers to the 
prayers of laymen; he did this also through attachment 
and gratitude to Bukatski, who had left him. a considerable 
part of his property. 

Besides the Polanyetskis came the Mashkos, the Osnovy- 
skis, the Bigiels, Svirski, Pan Plavitski, and Pani Emilia, 
who wished at the same time to visit Litka. The day was 
a genuine summer one, sunny and warm; the cemetery had 
a different seeming altogether from what it had during 
Pan Stanislav’s former visits. The great healthy trees 
formed a kind of thick, dense curtain composed of dark 
and bright leaves, covering with a deep green shade the 
white and gray monuments. In places the cemetery seemed 
simply a forest full of gloom and coolness. On certain 
graves was quivering a shining network of sunbeams, 
which had filtered in through the leaves of acacias, poplars, 
hornbeams, birch, and lindens; some crosses, nestling in a 
thick growth, seemed as if dreaming in cool air above the 
graves. In the branches and among the leaves were 
swarms of small birds, calling out from every side with an 
unceasing twitter, which was mild, and, as it were, low 
purposely, so as not to rouse the sleepers. 

2u 


450 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Svirski, Mashko, Polanyetski, and Osnovski took on 
their shoulders the narrow coffin containing the remains 
of Bukatski, and bore it tothe tomb. ‘he priests, in white 
surplices now gleaming in the sun, now in the shade, 
walked in front of the coftin; behind it the young women, 
dressed in black ; and all the company went slowly through 
the shady alleys, silently, calmly, without sobs or tears, 
which usually accompany a coffin. They moved only with 
dignity and sadness, which were on their faces as the 
shadow of the trees on the graves. There was, however, 
in all this a certain poetry filled with melancholy ; and 
the impressionable soul of Bukatski would have felt the 
charm of that mourning picture. 

In this way they arrived at the tomb, which had the 
form of a sarcophagus, and was entirely above ground, for 
Bukatski during life told Svirski that he did not wish to 
lie in a cellar. The coffin was pushed in easily through 
the iron door; the women raised their eyes then; their lips 
muttered prayers; and after a time Bukatski was left to 
the solitude of the cemetery, the rustling trees, the twitter 
of birds, and the mercy of God. 

Pani Emilia and Pan Stanislav went then to Litka; while 
the rest of the company waited in the carriages before the 
church, for thus Pani Aneta had wished. 

Pan Stanislav had a chance to convince himself, at Litka’s 
grave, how in his soul that child once so beloved had gone 
into the blue distance and become a shade. Formerly 
when he visited her grave he rebelled against death, and 
with all the passion of fresh sorrow was unreconciled to 
it. To-day it seemed to him well-nigh natural that she 
was lying in the shadow of those trees, in that cemetery ; 
he had the feeling almost that it must end thus. She had 
ceased all but completely to be for him a real being, and 
had become merely a sweet inhabitant of his memory, a 
sigh, a ray, simply one of that kind of reminiscences which 
is left by music. 

And he would have grown indignant at himself, perhaps, 
were it not that he saw Pani Emilia rise after her finished 
prayer with a serene face, with an expression of great 
tenderness in her eyes, but without tears. He noticed, 
however, that she looked as sick people look, that she rose 
from her knees with difficulty, and that in walking she 
leaned on a stick. In fact, she was at the beginning of a 
sore disease of the loins, which later on confined her for 
years to the bed, and only left her at the coffin. 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 451 







_ Before the cemetery gate the Osnovskis were waiting for 
them; Pani Aneta invited them to a betrothal party on 
_ the morrow, and then those “ who were kind” to Prytulov 
_ Svirski sat with Pani Emilia in Pan Stanislav’s carriage, 
and for some time was collecting his impressions in silence; 
but at last he said, — 
“How wonderful this is! To-day at a funeral, to-morrow 
ata betrothal; what death reaps, love sows, — and that is 


- 


life!” 


452 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 


Pawn IenAs wished the betrothal to be not in the evening 
before people, but earlier; and his wish was gratified all 
the more, since Lineta, who wished to show herself to 
people as already betrothed, supported him before Aunt 
Bronich. They felt freer thus; and when people began to 
assemble they appeared as a young couple. The light of 
happiness shone from Lineta. She found a charm in that 
role of betrothed ; and the réle added charm toher. In her 
slender form there was something winged. Her eyelids did 
not fall to-day sleepily over her eyes; those eyes were full 
of light, her lips of smiles, her face was in blushes. She 
was so beautiful that Svirski, seeing her, could not refrain 
from quiet sighs for the lost paradise, and found calmness 
for his soul only when he remembered his favorite song, — 


“T am singing and not sobbing, 
¥or I have ceased to love thee too! 
Hu-ha-hu!” 

For that matter her beauty struck every one that day. 
Old Zavilovski, who had himself brought in his chair to 
the drawing-room, held her hands and gazed at her for a 
time ; then, looking around at his daughter, he said, — 

“Well, such a Venetian half-devil can turn the head, she 
can, and especially the head of a poet, for in the heads of 
those gentlemen is fiu, fiu! as people say.” 

Then he turned to the young man and asked, — 

“Well, wilt thou break my neck to-day because I said 
Venetian half-devil to thee ? ” 

Pan Ignas laughed, and, bending his head, kissed the old 
man’s shoulder. “No; I could not break any one’s neck 
to-day.” 

“Well,” said the old man, evidently rejoiced at those 
marks of honor, “may God and the Most Holy Lady bless 
you both! I say the Most Holy Lady, for her protection is 
the basis.” . 

When he had said this, he began to search behind in the 
chair, and, drawing forth a large jewel-case, said to Lineta,— 

“This is from the family of the Zavilovskis; God grant 
thee to wear it long! ” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 453 


_Lineta, taking the box, bent her charming figure to kiss 
him on the shoulder; he embraced her neck, and said to the 
bridegroom, — 

“But thou might come.” 

And he kissed both on the forehead, and said, with 
greater emotion than he wished to show, — 

“ Now love and revere each other, like honest people.” 

Lineta opened the case, in which on a sapphire-colored 
satin cushion gleamed a splendid riviére of diamonds. ‘Che 
old man said once more with emphasis, “ From the family of 
the Zavilovskis,” wishing evidently to show that the young 
lady who married a Zavilovski, even without property, was 
not doing badly. But no one heard him, for the heads of 
the ladies—of Lineta, Pani Aneta, Pani Mashko, Pani 
Bronich and even Marynia — bent over the flashing stones; 
and breath was stopped in their mouths for a time, till at 
last a murmur of admiration and praise broke the silence. 

“Tt is not a question of diamonds!” cried Pani Bronich, 
casting herself almost into the arms of old Zavilovski, “ but 
as the gift, so the heart.” 

“Do not mention it Pani; do not mention it!” said the 
old man, warding her off. 

Now the society broke into pairs or small groups; the 
betrothed were so occupied with each other that the 
whole world vanished from before them. Osnovski and 
Svirski went up to Marynia and Pani Bigiel. Kopovski 
undertook to entertain the lady of the house; Pan Stan- 
islav was occupied with Pani Mashko. As to Mashko 
himself, he was anxious evidently to make a nearer 
acquaintance with the Crcesus, for he so fenced him off 
with his armchair that no one could approach him, and 
began then to talk of remote times and the present, which, 
as he divined easily, had become a favorite theme for the 
old man. 

But he was too keen-witted to be of Zavilovski’s opinion 
in all things. Moreover, the old man did not attack recent 
times always; nay, he admired them in part. He acknow]- 
edged that in many regards they were moving toward the 
better; still he could not take them in. But Mashko ex- 
plained to him that everything must change on earth; 
hence nobles, as well as other strata of society. 

“JT, respected sir,” said he, “hold to the land through a 
certain inherited instinct, — through that something which 
attracts to land the man who came from it; but, while 





454 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


managing my own property, I am an advocate, and I am 
one on principle. We should have our own people in that 
department; if we do not, we shall be at the mercy of 
men coming from other spheres, and often directly opposed 
to us. And I must render our landholders this justice, that 
for the greater part they understand this well, and choose 
to confide their business to me rather than to others. Some 
think it even a duty.” 

“The bar has been filled from our ranks at all times,” 
answered Pan Zavilovski; ‘‘but will the noble succeed in 
other branches? As God lives, I cannot tell. I hear, and 
hear that we ought to undertake everything; but people 
forget that to undertake and to succeed are quite different. 
Show me the man who has succeeded.” 

“Here he is, respected sir, Pan Polanyetski: he in a 
commission house has made quite a large property; and 
what he has is in ready cash, so that he could put it all on 
the table to-morrow. He will not deny that my counsels 
have been of profit to him frequently; but what he has 
made, he has made through commerce, mainly in grain.” 

“Indeed, indeed!” said the old noble, gazing at Pan 
Stanislav, and staring from wonder, “has he really made 
property ? Is it possible? Is he of the real Polanyet- 
skis? That’s a good family.” 

“ And that stalwart man with brown hair ? ” 

‘Ts Svirski the artist.” 

“JT know him, for I saw him abroad; and the Svirskis 
did not make fires as an occupation.” 

‘* But he can only paint money, for he has n’t made any.” 

* He has n’t!” said Mashko, in a confidential tone. “Not 
one big estate in Podolia will give as much income as aqua- 
relles give him.” 

“What is that?” 

“ Pictures in water-colors.” 

“Ts it possible? not even oil paintings! And he too —? 
Ha! then, perhaps, my relative will make something at 
verses. Let him write; let him write. I will not take it 
ill of him. Pan Zygmund was a noble, and he wrote, and 
not for display. Pan Adam was a noble also; but he 
is famous,— more famous than that brawler who has 
worked with democracy — What’s his name? Never 
mind! You say that times are changing. Hm, are they ? 
Let them change for themselves, if only with God’s help, 
for the better.” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 455 


‘‘The main thing,” said Mashko, “is not to shut up 
a@ man’s power in his head, nor capital in chests; whoever 
does that, simply sins against society.” 

“ Well, but with permission! How do you understand 
this, —Am I not free to close with a key what belongs to 
me; must I leave my chests open to a robber ?” 7 

Mashko smiled with a shade of loftiness, and, putting his 
hand on the arm of the chair, said, — 

“That is not the question, respected sir.” And then he 
began to explain the principles of political economy to Pan 
Zavilovski; the old noble listened, nodding his head, and 
repeating from time to time, — 

“Indeed! that is something new! but I managed with- 
out it.” 

Pani Bronich followed the betrothed with eyes full of 
emotion, and at the same time told Plavitski (who on his 
part was following Pani Aneta with eyes not less full 
of emotion) about the years of her youth, her life with 
Teodor, and the misfortune which met them because of 
the untimely arrival in the world of their only descendant, 
and Plavitski listened with distraction; but, moved at last 
by her own narrative, she said with a somewhat quivering 
voice, — 

‘So all my love, hope, and faith are in Lineta. You 
will understand this, for you too have a daughter. And as 
to Lolo, just think what a blessing that child would have 
been had he lived, since even dead he rendered us so much 
service —” 

“Immensely touching, immensely touching!” inter- 
rupted Plavitski. 

“Oh, it is true,’’ continued Pani Bronich. “ How often in 
harvest time did my husband run with the ery, ‘Lolo 
monte!’ and send out all his laboring men to the field. 
With others, wheat sprouted in the shocks, with us, never. 
Oh, true! And the loss was the greater in this, that that 
was our last hope. My husband was a man in years, and 
I can say that for me he was the best of protectors; but 
after this misfortune, only a protector.” 

“ Here I cease to understand him,” said Plavitski. “ Ha, 
ha! I fail altogether to understand him.” 

And, opening his mouth, he looked roguishly at Pam 
Bronich ; she slapped him lightly with her fan, and said, — 

“These men are detestable; for them there is nothing 
sacred.” 


456 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“Who is that, a real Perugino,-~-that pale lady, with 
whom your husband is talking?” asked Svirski now of 
Marynia. 

“ An acquaintance of ours, Pani Mashko. Have you not 
been presented to her?” 

“Yes; I became acquainted with her yesterday at the 
funeral, but forget her name. I know that she is the wife 
of that gentleman who is talking with old Pan Zavilovski. 
A pure Vannuci! The same quietism, and a little yellowish ; 
but she has very beautiful lines in her form.” 

And looking a little longer he added, — 

“A quenched face, but uncommon lines in the whole 
figure. As it were slender; look at the outline of her arms 
and shoulders.” 

But Marynia was not looking at the outlines of the arms 
and shoulders of Pani Mashko, but at her husband; and on 
her face alarm was reflected on a sudden. Pan Stanislav 
was just inclining toward Pani Mashko and telling her 
something which Marynia could not hear, for they were 
sitting at a distance ; but it seemed to her that at times he 
gazed into that quenched face and those pale eyes with the 
same kind of look with which during their journey after 
marriage he had gazed at her sometimes. Ah, she knew 
that look! And her heart began now to beat, as if feeling 
some great danger. But immediately she said to herself, 
“That cannot be! That would be unworthy of Stas.” Still 
she could not refrain from looking at them. Pan Stanislav 
was telling something very vivaciously, which Pani Mashko 
listened to with her usual indifference. Marynia thought 
again: “Something only seemed to me! He is speaking 
vivaciously as usual, but nothing more.” The remnant of 
her doubt was destroyed by Svirski, who, either because he 
noticed her alarm and inquiring glance, or because he did 
not notice the expression on Pan Stanislav’s face, said, — 

“With all this she says nothing. Your husband must 
keep up the conversation, and he looks at once weary and 
angry.” 

Marynia’s face grew radiant in one instant. “Oh, you 
are right! Stas is annoyed a little, surely ; and the moment 
he is annoyed he is angry.” 

And she fell into perfect good-humor. She would have 
been glad to give a riviére of diamonds, like that which Pan 
Zavilovski had brought to Lineta, to make “Stas ” approach 
at that moment, to say something herself to him, and heara 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 457 


kind word from him. In fact, a few minutes later her wish 
was accomplished, for Osnovski approached Pani Mashko: 
Pan Stanislav rose, and, saying a word or two on the way to 
Pani Aneta, who was talking to Kopovski, sat down at last 
by his wife. 

“Dost wish to tell me something ?” he inquired. 

“How wonderful it is, Stas, for I called to thee that 
moment, but only in mind; still thou hast felt and art here 
with me.” 

“See what a husband I am,” answered he, with a smile. 
“ But the reason is really very simple: I noticed thee look- 
ing at me; I was afraid that something might have happened, 
and I came.” 

“T was looking, for I wanted something.” 

“ And I came, for I wanted something. How dost thou 
feel? Tell the truth! Perhaps thou hast a wish to go home ?” 

“No, Stas, as I love thee, I am perfectly comfortable. I 
was talking with Pan Svirski of Pani Mashko, and was en- 
tertained well.” 

“T guessed that you were gossiping about her. This artist 
says himself that he has an evil tongue.” 

“On the contrary,” answered Svirski, “I was only ad- 
miring her form. The turn for my tongue may come 
later.” 

“Oh, that is true,” said Pan Stanislav; “ Pani Osnovski 
says that she has indeed a bad figure, and that is proof 
that she has a good one. But, Marynia, I will tell thee 
something of Pani Osnovski.” Here he bent toward his 
wife, and whispered, ‘“ Knowest what I heard from 
Kopovski’s lips when I was coming to thee ?” 

“ What was it? Something amusing ?” 

“Just as one thinks: I heard him say thow to Pam 
Aneta.” 

“Stas !” 

“‘ As I love thee, he did. He said to her, ‘Thou art always 
SOs 2 

“Maybe he was quoting some other person’s words.’ 

“T don’t know. Maybe he was; maybe he wasn’t. 
Besides, they may have been in love sometime.” 

“Wi! Be ashamed.” 

“Say that to them — or rather to Pani Aneta.” 

Marynia, who knew perfectly well that unfaithfulness 
exists, but looking on it rather as some French literary 
theory, — she had not even imagined that one might meet 


b] 


458 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


such a thing at every step and in practice, — began to look 
now at Pani Aneta with wonder, and at the same time with 
the immense curiosity with which honest women look at 
those who have had boldness to leave the high-road for by- 
paths. She had too truthful a nature, however, to believe 
in evil iminediately, and she did not; and somehow it 
would not find a place in her head that really there could be 
anything between those two, if only because of the unheard- 
of stupidity of Kopovski. She noticed, however, that they 
were talking with unusual vivacity. 

But they, sitting somewhat apart between a great porce- 
lain vase and the piano, had not only been talking, but 
arguing for a quarter of an hour. 

“T fear that he has heard something,” said Pani Aneta, 
with a certain alarm, after Pan Stanislav had passed. 
“Thou art never careful.” 

“Yes, it is always my fault! But who is forever repeat- 
ing, ‘Be careful’ ?” 

In this regard both were truly worthy of each other, since 
he could foresee nothing because of his dulness, and she 
was foolhardy to recklessness. Two persons knew their 
secret now; others might divine it. One needed all the in- 
fatuation of Osnovski not to infer anything. But it was on 
that that she reckoned. 

Meanwhile Kopovski looked at Pan Stanislav and said, — 

“He has heard nothing.” 

Then he returned to the conversation which they had be- 
gun; but now he spoke in lower tones and in French, — 

“Didst thou love me, thou wouldst be different ; but since 
thou dost not love, what harm could that be to thee ?” 

Then he turned on her his wonderful eyes without mind, 
while she answered impatiently, — 

“ Whether I love, or love not, Castelka never! Dost un- 
derstand ? Never! I would prefer any other to her, though, 
if thou wert in love with me really, thou wouldst not think 
of marriage.”’ 

“T would not think of it, if thou wert different.” 

“Be patient.” 

“Yes! till death? If I married Castelka, we should then 
be near really.” 

“Never! I repeat to thee.” 

“Well, but why?” 

“Thou wouldst not understand it. Besides, Castelka is 
betrothed; it is too bad to lose time in discussing this.” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 459 


“Thou thyself hast commanded me to pay court to her 
and now art casting reproaches. At first I thought of 
nothing; but afterward she pleased me, —I do not deny 
this. She pleases all; and, besides, she is a good match.” — 

Pani Aneta began to pull at the end of her handker- 
chief. 

‘“ And thou hast the boldness to say to my eyes that she 
pleased thee,” said she at last. “Is it I, or she?” ik 

“Thou, but thee I cannot marry; her I could, for I saw 
well that I pleased her.” i 

“Tf thou wert better acquainted with women, thou wouldst 
be glad that I did not let it go to marriage. ‘Thou dost not 
know her. She is just like a stick, and, besides, is malicious 
in character. Dost thou not understand that I told thee to 
pay court to her out of regard to people, and to Yozio? 
Otherwise, how explain thy daily visits?” 

“T could understand, wert thou other than thou art,” 

“Do not oppose me. I have fixed all, as thou seest, to 
keep thy portrait from being finished, and give thee a chance 
to visit Prytulov. Steftsia Ratkovski, a distant relative of 
Yozio’s, will be there soon. Dost understand? Thou must 
pretend that she pleases thee; and I will talk what I like 
into Yozio. In this way thou wilt be able to stop at Pry- 
tulov. I have written to Panna Ratkovski already. She is 
not a beauty, but agreeable.” 

“ Always pretence, and nothing for it.” 

“ Suppose I should say to thee: Don’t come.” 

“ Anetka!” 

“Then be patient. I cannot be angry long with thee. 
But now go thy way. Amuse Pani Mashko.” 

And a moment later Pani Aneta was alone. Her eyes 
followed Kopevski a while with the remnant of her anger, 
but also with a certain tenderness. In the white cravat, 
with his dark tint of face, he was so killingly beautiful that 
she could not gaze at him sufficiently. Lineta was now the 
betrothed of another; still the thought seemed unendurable 
that that daily rival of hers might possess him, if not as 
husband, as lover. Pani Aneta, in telling Kopovski that 
she would yield him to any other rather than to Castelka, 
told the pure truth. That was for her a question, at once 
of an immense weakness for that dull Endymion, and a 
question of self-love. Her nerves simply could not agree 
to it. Certain inclinations of the senses, which she herself 
looked on as lofty, and rising from a Grecian nature, but 


460 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


which at the root of the matter were common, took the place 
in her of morality and conscience. By virtue of these incli- 
nations, she fell under the irresistible charm of Kopovski; 
but having not only a heated head, but a temperament of 
fishy coldness, she preferred, as Pan Ignas divined intui- 
tively, the play with evil to evil itself. Holding, in her way, 
to the principle, ‘‘ If not I, then no one!” she was ready to 
push matters to the utmost to prevent the marriage of Ko- 
povski to Lineta, the more since she saw that Lineta, in spite 
of all her “ words” about Kopovski, in spite of the irony 
with which she had mentioned him and her jests about the 
man, was also under the charm of his exceptional beauty ; 
that all those jests were simply self-provocation, under 
which was concealed an attraction; and that, in general, the 
source of her pleasure and Lineta’s was the same. But she 
did not observe that, for this reason, she at the bottom of 
her soul had contempt for Lineta. 

She knew that Lineta, through very vanity, would not 
oppose her persuasion, and the homages of a man with a 
famous name. In this way, she had retained Kopovski, 
and, besides, had produced for herself a splendid spectacle, 
on which women, who are more eager for impressions 
than feelings, look always with greediness. Besides, if 
that famous Pan Ignas, when his wife becomes an every- 
day object, should look somewhere for a Beatrice, he might 
find her. Little is denied men who have power to hand 
down, to the memory of mankind and the homage of ages, 
the name of a loved one. These plans for the future Pani 
Aneta had not outlined hitherto expressly ; but she had, as 
it were, a misty feeling that her triumph would in that case 
be perfect. 

Moreover, she had triumphed even now, for all had gone 
as she wished. Still Kopovski made her angry. She had 
considered him as almost her property. Meanwhile, she 
saw that, so far as he was able to understand anything, he 
understood this, that the head does not ache from abun- 
dance, and that Aneta might not hinder Lineta. That 
roused her so keenly that at moments she was thinking 
how to torment him in return. Meanwhile, she was glad 
that Lineta paraded herself as being in love really, soul and 
heart, with Pan Ignas, which for Kopovski was at once 
both a riddle and a torture. 

These thoughts flew through her head like lightning, and 
flew all of them in the short time that she was alone. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 461 


At last she was interrupted by the serving of supper. 
Osnovski, who desired that his wife should be surrounded 
by such homage from every one as he himself gave, and to 
whom it seemed that what he had said to Pan Ignas about 
his married life was very appropriate, had the unhappy 
thought to repeat at the first toast the wish that Pan 
Ignas might be as happy with Lineta as he with his wife, 
Hereupon, the eyes of Pan Ignas and Pan Stanislav turned 
involuntarily to Pani Osnovski, who looked quickly at Pan 
Stanislav, and doubts on both sides disappeared in one 
instant; that is, she gained the perfect certainty that Pan 
Stanislav had heard them, and he, that Kopovski had not 
quoted the words of another, but had said ¢how in direct 
speech to the lady. Pani Aneta had guessed even that Pan 
Stanislav must have spoken of that to Marynia, for she had 
seen how, after he had passed, both had talked and looked 
a certain time at her with great curiosity. The thought 
filled her with anger and a desire of revenge, so that she 
listened without attention to the further toasts, which were 
given by her husband, by Pan Ignas, by Plavitski, and 
at last by Pan Bigiel. 

But, after supper, it came to her head all at once to 
arrange a dancing-party; and “ Yozio,” obedient as ever 
to each beck of hers, and, besides, excited after feasting, 
supported the thought enthusiastically. Marynia could not 
dance, but besides her there were five youthful ladies, — 
Lineta, Pani Osnovski, Pani Bigiel, Pani Mashko, and 
Panna Zavilovski. The last declared, it is true, that she did 
not dance; but, since people said that she neither danced, 
talked, ate, nor drank, her refusal did not stop the readi- 
ness of others. Osnovski, who was in splendid feeling, 
declared that Ignas should take Lineta in his arms, for 
surely he had not dared to do so thus far. 

It turned out, however, that Pan Ignas could not avail 
himself of Pan Osnovski’s friendly wishes, for he had 
never danced in his life, and had not the least knowledge 
of dancing, which not only astonished Pani Bronich and 
Lineta, but offended them somewhat. Kopovski, on the 
other hand, possessed this art in a high degree; hence he 
began the dance with Lineta, as the heroine of the evening. 
They were a splendid pair, and eyes followed them invol- 
untarily. Pan Ignas was forced to see her golden head 
incline toward Kopovski’s shoulder, to see their bosoms 
near each other, to see both whirling to the time of Bigiel’s 


462 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


waltz, joined in the harmony of movement, blending, as it 
were, into one tune and one unity. Even from looking at 
all this, he grew angry, for he understood that there was a 
thing which he did not know, which would connect Lineta 
with others and disconnect her with him. Besides, people 
about him mentioned the beauty of the dancing couple; 
and Svirski, sitting near him, said, — 

“What a beautiful man! If there were male houris, as 
there are female, he might be a houri in a Mussulman 
paradise for women.” 

They waltzed long; and there was in the tones of the 
music, as in their movements, something, as it were, intoxi- 
cating, a kind of dizzy faintness, which incensed Pan Ignas 
still more, for he recalled Byron’s verses on waltzing, — 
verses as cynical as they are truthful. At last, he said to 
himself, with complete impatience: “When will that ass 
let her go?” He feared, too, that Kopovski might tire 
her too much. 

The “ass” let her go at last at the other end of the 
hall, and straightway took Pani Aneta. But Lineta ran up 
to her betrothed, and, sitting down at his side, said, 

“He dances well, but he likes to exhibit his skill, for 
he has nothing else. He kept me too long. I have lost 
breath a little, and my heart is beating. If you could 
put your hand there and feel how it beats— but it is not 
proper to do so. How wonderful, too, for it is your 
property.” 

“My property!” said Pan Ignas, holding out his hand 
to her. “Do not say ‘ your’ to me to-day, Lineta.” 

“Thy property,” she whispered, and she did not ward 
off his hand, she only let it drop down a little on her robe, 
so that people might not notice it. 

“T was jealous of him,” said Pan Ignas, pressing her 
fingers passionately. 

“Dost wish I will dance no more to-day? I like to 
dance, but I prefer to be near thee.” 

“My worshipped one!” 

“T am a stupid society girl, but I want to be worthy of 
thee. As thou seest, I love music greatly, — even waltzes 
and polkas. Somehow they act on me wonderfully. How 
well this Pan Bigiel plays! But I know that there are 
things higher than waltzes. Hold my handkerchief, and 
drop my hand for a moment. It is thy hand, but I must 
arrange my hair. It is time to dance; to dance is not 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 463 


wrong, is it? But if thou wish, I will not dance, for I 
am an obedient creature. I will learn to read in thy eyes, 
and afterward shall be like water, which reflects both 
clouds and clear weather. So pleasant is it for me near 
thee! See how perfectly those people dance !” 

Words failed Pan Ignas; only in one way could he 
have shown what he felt,—by kneeling before her. But 
she pointed out Pan Stanislav, who was dancing with Pani 
Mashko, and admired them heartily. 

“Really he dances better than Pan Kopovski,” said she, 
with gleaming eyes; “and she, how graceful! Oh, I should 
like to dance even once with him — if thou permit.” 

Pan Ignas, in whom Pan Stanislav did not rouse the 
least jealousy, said, — 

**My treasure, as often as may please thee. I will send 
him at once to thee.” 

“Oh, how perfectly he dances! how perfectly! And 
this waltz, it is like some delightful shiver. They are 
sailing, not dancing.” 

Of this opinion, too, was Marynia, who, following the 
couple with her eyes, experienced a still greater feeling of 
bitterness than Pan Ignas a little while earlier; for it 
seemed a number of times to her that Pan Stanislav had 
looked again on Pani Mashko with that expression with 
which he had looked when Svirski supposed that either he 
was annoyed, or was angry. But now such a supposition 
was impossible. At moments both dancers passed near 
her; and then she saw distinctly how his arm embraced 
firmly Pani Mashko’s waist, how his breath swept around 
her neck, how his nostrils were dilated, how his glances 
slipped over her naked bosom. That might be invisible 
for others, but not for Marynia, who could read in his 
face as in a book. And all at once the light of the lamps 
became dark in her eyes; she understood that it was one 
thing not to be happy, and another to be unhappy. This 
lasted briefly, —as briefly as one tact of the waltz, or one 
instant in which a heart that is straitened ceases to 
beat; but it sufficed for the feeling that life in the future 
might be embroiled, and present love changed into a bitter 
and contemptuous sorrow. And that feeling filled her with 
terror. Before her was drawn aside, as it were, a curtain, 
behind which appeared unexpectedly all the sham of life, 
all the wretchedness and meanness of human nature. 
Nothing had happened yet, absolutely nothing; but a vision 


464 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


came to Marynia, in which she saw that there might bea 
time when her confidence in her husband would vanish like 
smoke. 

She tried, however, to ward away doubts; she wished to 
talk into herself that he was under the influence of the 
dance, not of his partner; she preferred not to believe her 
eyes. Shame seized her for that “Stas” of whom she had 
been so proud up to that time; and she struggled with all 
her strength against that feeling, understanding that it 
was a question of enormous importance, and that from 
that little thing, and from that fault of his, hitherto almost 
nothing, might flow results which would act on their whole 
future. 

At that moment was heard near her the jesting voice of 
Pani Aneta. 

“ Ah, Marynia, nature has created, as it were, purposely, 
thy husband and Pani Mashko to waltz with each other. 
What a pair!” 

“Yes,” answered Marynia, with an effort. 

And Pani Aneta twittered on: “Perfectly fitted for each 
other. It is true that in thy place I should be a little 
jealous; but thou, art thou jealous? No? I am outspoken, 
and confess freely that I should be; at least, it was so with 
me once. I know, for that matter, that Yozio loves me; 
but these men, even while loving, have their little fancies. 
Their heads do not ache the least on that score; and that 
our hearts ache, they do not see, or do not wish to see. 
The best of them are not different. Yozio? true! he isa 
model husband; and dost thou think that I do not know 
him? Now, when I have grown used to him, laughter 
seizes me often, for they are all so awkward! I know the 
minute that Yozio is beginning to be giddy; and knowest 
thou what my sign is?” 

Marynia was looking continually at her husband, who 
had ceased now to dance with Pani Mashko, and had taken 
Lineta. She felt great relief all at once, for it seemed to 
her that “Stas,” while dancing with Lineta, had the same 
expression of face. Her suspicions began to fade; and she 
thought at once that she had judged him unjustly, that she 
herself was not good. She had never seen him dancing 
before; and the thought came to her head that perhaps he 
danced that way always. 

Then Pani Aneta repeated, “Dost know how I discover 
when Yozio is beginning to play pranks?” 





— sae ee 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 465 


( How?” inquired Marynia, with more liveliness. 

I will teach thee the method. Here it is: the moment 
he has an unclean conscience, he puts suspicion on others 
and shares these suspicions with me, so as to turn atten- 
tion from himself. Dear Yozio! that is their method 
How they lie, even the best of them!” 
_ When she had said this, she went away, with the convic- 
tion that on the society chessboard she had made a very 
clever move; and it was clever. In Marynia’s head a 
kind of chaos now rose; she knew not what to think at 
last of all this. Great physical weariness seized her also 
“T am not well,” said she to herself; “I am excited, and 
God knows what may seem to me.” And the feeling of 
weariness increased in her every moment. That whole 
evening seemed a fever dream. Pan Stanislav had men- 
tioned Pani Aneta as a faith-breaking woman; Pani Aneta 
had said the same of all husbands. Pan Stanislav had 
been looking with dishonest eyes on Pani Mashko, and 
Pani Aneta had said thow to Kopovski. To this was 
added the dancing couples, the monotonous tact of the 
waltz, the heads of the lovers, and finally, a storm, which 
was heard out of doors. What a mixture of impressions! 
what a phantasmagoria! “Iam not well,” repeated Marynia 
in her mind. But she felt also that peace was leaving her, 
and that this was the unhappy evening of her life. She 
wished greatly to go home, but, as if to spite her, there 


was a pouring rain. “Let us go home! let us go home!” 


Tf “Stas” should say some good and cordial word besides. 
Let him only not speak of Pani Aneta or Pani Mashko; 
let him speak of something that related to him and her, 
and was dear to them. 

“Oh, how tired I am!” 

At that moment Pan Stanislav came to her; and at sight 
of her poor, pale face, he felt a sudden sympathy, to which 
his heart, kind in itself, yielded easily. 

“My poor dear,” said he, “it is time for thee to go to 
bed; only let the rain pass a little. Thou art not afraid 
of thunder?” 

“No; sit near me.” 

“The summer shower will pass soon. How sleepy thou 
art!” 

“Perhaps I ought not to have come, Stas. I have great 
need of rest.” 

He had a conscience which was not too clear, and was 

30 


466 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


angry at himself. But it had not come to his mind that 
what she was saying of rest might relate to him and his 
attempts and conduct with Pani Mashko; but he felt all at 
once that if she had suspected, her peace would be ruined 
forever through his fault, and since he was not a spoiled 
man, fear and compunction possessed him. 

“To the deuce with all dances!” said he. “I will stay 
at home, and take care of that which belongs to me.” 

And he said this so sincerely that a shadow of doubt 
could not pass through her head, for she knew him per- 
fectly. Hence a feeling of immense relief came upon her. 

‘When thou art with me,” said she, “I feel less tired 
right away. A moment ago I felt ill somehow. Aneta 
sat near me; but what can I care for her? When out of 
health, one needs a person who is near, who is one’s own, 
and reliable. Perhaps thou wilt scold me for what I say, 
since it is strange to say such things at a party, among 
strangers, and so long after marriage. I understand my- 
self that it is somewhat strange; but I need thee really, 
for I love thee much.” 

“ And I love thee, dear being,” answered Pan Stanislav 
who felt then that love for her could alone be honest and 
peaceful. 

Meanwhile the rain decreased; but there was lightning 
yet, so that the windows of the villa were bright blue 
every moment. Bigiel, who, after the dancing, had played 
a prelude of Chopin’s, was talking now with Lineta and 
Pan Ignas about music, and, defending his idea firmly, 
said, — 

“That Bukatski invented various kinds and types of 
women; and I have my musical criterion. There are 
women who love music with their souls, and there are 
others who love it with their skin, —these last I fear.” 

A quarter of an hour later the short summer storm had 
passed by, and the sky had cleared perfectly; the guests 
began to prepare for home. But Zavilovski remained 
longer than others, so that he might be the last to say 
good-night to Lineta. 

Out of fear for Marynia, Pan Stanislav gave command 
to drive the carriage at a walk. The picture of her hus- 
band dancing with Pani Mashko was moving in her tortured 
head continually. Pani Aneta’s words, “Oh, how they 
lie! even the best of them,” were sounding in her ears. 
But Pan Stanislav supported her meanwhile with his arm, 


Se 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 467 


and held her resting against him during the whole way; 
hence her disquiet disappeared gradually. She wished 
from her soul to put some kind of question to him, from 
which he might suspect her fears and pacify her. But 
after a while she thought: “If he did not love me, he 
would not show anxiety; he could be cruel more readily 
than pretend. I will not ask him to-day about anything.” 
Pan Stanislav, on his part, evidently under the influence 
of the thought which moved in his head, and under the 
impression that she alone might be his right love and true 
happiness, bent down and kissed her face lightly. 

**T will not ask him about anything to-morrow either,” 
thought Marynia, resting her head on his shoulder. And 
after a while she thought again, “I will never tell him 
anything.” And fatigue, both physical and mental, began 
to overpower her, so that before they reached home her 
eyes were closed, and she had fallen asleep on his arm. 

Pani Bronich was sitting, meanwhile, in the drawing- 
room, looking toward the glass door of the balcony, te 
which the betrothed had gone out for a moment to breathe 
the air freshened by rain, and say good-night to each other 
without witnesses. After the storm the night had become 
very clear, giving out the odor of wet leaves; it was full 
of stars, which were as if they had bathed in the rain, and 
were smiling through tears. The two young people stood 
some time in silence, and then began to say that they loved 
each other with all their souls; and at last Pan Ignas 
stretched forth his hand, on which a ring was glittering, 
and said, — 

“My greatly beloved! I look at this ring, and cannot 
look at it sufficiently. To this moment it has seemed to 
me that all this is a dream, and only now do I dare to 
think that thou wilt be mine really.” 

Then Lineta placed the palm of her hand on his, so that 
the two rings were side by side; and she said, with a voice 
of dreamy exaltation, — 

“Yes; the former Lineta is no longer in existence, only 
thy betrothed. Now we must belong with our whole lives 
to each other; and it is a marvel to me that there should 
be such power in these little rings, as if something holy 
were in them.” 

Pan Ignas’s heart was overflowing with happiness, calm, 
and sweetness. 

“Yes,” said he; “for in the ring is the soul, which 


468 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


yields itself, and in return receives another. In such a 
golden promise is ingrafted everything which in a man 
says, ‘1 wish, I love, and promise.’ ” 

Lineta repeated like a faint echo, “I wish, I love, and 
promise.” 

Next he embraced her and held her long at his breast, 
and then began to take farewell. But, borne away by the 
might of love and the impulse of his soul, he made of that 
farewell a sort of religious act of adoration and honor. 
So he gave good-night to those blessed hands which had 
given him so much happiness, and good-night to that heart 
which loved him, and good-night to the lips which had 
confessed love, and good-night to the clear eyes through 
which mutuality gazed forth at the poet; and at last the 
soul went out of him, and changed itself, as it were, into 
a shining circle, around that head which was dearest in the 
world and worshipped. 

“ Good-night! ” 

After a while Pani Bronich and Lineta were alone in the 
drawing-room. 

“Art wearied, child?” inquired Pani Bronich, looking 
at Lineta’s face, which was as if roused from sleep. 

And Lineta answered, — 

“Ah, aunt, I am returning from the stars, and that’s 
such a long journey.” 





eye a? 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 469 


. 


CHAPTER LI. 


PAN Ienas could say to himself that sometimes a lucky 
star shines even for poets. It is true that since the day 
of his betrothal to Lineta it had occurred to him frequently 
that there would be need now to think of means to furnish 
a house, and meet the expenses, as well of a marriage as 
a wedding; but, being first of all in love, and not having 
in general a clear understanding of such matters, he repre- 
sented all this to himself only as some kind of new diffi- 
culty to be overcome. He had conquered so many of these 
in his life that, trusting in his power, he thought that he 
would conquer this too; but he had not thought over the 
means so far. 

Others, however, were thinking for him. Old Zavi- 
lovski, in whom, with all his esteem for geniuses, nothing 
could shake the belief that every poet must have “ fiu, fiu” 
in his head, invited Pan Stanislav to a personal consulta- 
tion, and said, — 

“T will say openly that this youngster has pleased me, 
though his father was, with permission, a great roisterer 
nothing for him but cards and women and horses. He 
came to grief in his time. But the son is not like the 
father; he has brought to the name not discredit, but honor. 
Well, others have not accustomed me much to this; but the 
Lord God grant that I shall not.forget the man. I should 
like, however, to do something for him at once; for though 
a distant relative, he is a relative, and the name is the 
same, — that is the main thing.” 

“We have been thinking of this,” said Pan Stanislav. 
“but the thing is difficult. If aid be spoken of, he is so 
sensitive that one may make the impatient fellow angry.” 

“Tndeed! How stubborn he is!” said Zavilovski, with 
evident pleasure. ; 

“True! He has kept books and written letters for our 
house ashort time. But we have conceived a real liking for 
him; therefore my partner and I have offered him credit 
ourselves. ‘ Take a few thousand rubles,’ said we, ‘ for ex- 
penses and furnishing a house, and return them to us in 
the course of three years from thy salary.’ He would 


470 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


not: he said that he had trust in his betrothed; she would 
accommodate herself to him, he felt sure, and he did not 
want the money. Osnovski, too, wanted to offer aid, but 
we stopped him, knowing that it was useless. Your pro- 
ject will be difficult.” 

“Maybe, then, he has something ?” 

‘*He has, and he hasn’t. We have just learned that 
some thousands of rubles came to him from his mother; 
but with the interest he supports his father in an insane 
asylum, and considers the capital as inviolable. That he 
takes nothing from it, is certain, for before he began with 
us, he suffered such poverty that he was simply dying of 
hunger, and he didn’t touch a copper. Such is his char- 
acter. And you will understand why we esteem him. He 
is writing something, it seems, and thinks that he will 
meet the expense of first housekeeping with it. Maybe he 
will; his name means much at present.” 

“Pears on willows!” said Pan Zavilovski. “You tell 
me that his name means much —does it? But that’s pears 
on willows!” 

“Not necessarily; only it will not come quickly.” 

“Well, he was ceremonious with you because you were 
strangers, but I am a relative.” 

“We are strangers, but older acquaintances than you, 
and we know him better.” 

Zavilovski, unaccustomed to contradiction, began to 
move his white mustaches, and pant from displeasure. 
For the first time in his life he had to trouble himself 
about the question, would the man to whom he wished to 
give money be pleased to accept it? This astonished, 
pleased, and angered him all at once; he recalled, then, 
something which he did not mention to Pan Stanislav, and 
this was it, how many times had he paid notes for the 
father of the young man? —and what notes! But see, the 
apple has fallen so far from the tree that now there is a 
new and unexpected trouble. 

“Well,” said he, after a while, “may the merciful God 
grant the young generation to change; for now, O devil, do 
not go even near them! ” 

Here his face grew bright all at once with an immense 
honest pleasure. The inexhaustible optimism, lying at 
the bottom of his soul, when it found a real cause to 
justify itself, filled his heart with glad visions. 

“Bite him now, lord devil,” said he, “for the beast is 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 471 


as if of stone! —a capable rascal! resolute in work, and 
character; that is what it is, — character.” 

Here he stared, and, shaking his head, fixed his lips as 
@ sign of wonder, as if to whistle, and after a moment 
added , — P 

“Indeed! and that in a noble! As God lives, I didn’t 
expect it.” 

But talking in this way he deceived himself, for all his 
life he had expected everything. 

“Tt seems, then,” said Pan Stanislav, “that there is no 
help but this, Panna Castelli must accommodate herself 
to him.” 

But the old noble made a wry face all at once. “That is 
talk! tfu! Will she accommodate, or will she not? the 
deuce knows her! She is young; and as she is young, 
maybe she is ready for everything; but who will give 
assurance, and for how long? Besides, there is her aunt 
and that accommodating dead man; when he shouts from 
under the ground, go and talk with him. As God is true, I 
esteem people who have acquired property; but when 
any one has crept out of a cottage, and not a mansion, and 
pretends that he lived always in palaces, he wants palaces. 
And so it was with old Bronich. Neither of them was 
Jacking in vanity; the young woman was reared in such a 
school, — nothing but comfort and abundance. Ignas does 

ot know them in that respect—and you do not. Sucha 
woman as this” (here he pointed to his daughter) “ would 
go to a garret even, once she had given her word; but that 
other one, she may not go easily.” 

“T do not know them,” said Pan Stanislav, “though I 
have heard various reports; but through good-will for 
Ignas, I should like to know definitely what to think of 
them.” 

“ What tothink of them! I have known them a long time, 
and I, too, do not know much. Well, judging from what 
Bronich herself says, the women are saints, the most 
worthy. And pious! Ha! they should be canonized 
while living! But you see it is this way,—there are 
women among us who bear God and the commands of faith 
in their hearts, and there are such, too, who make of our 
Catholic religion, Catholic amusement; and such talk the 
loudest, and grow up where no one sowed them. That’s 
what the case is.” 

“ Ah, how truly you have spoken!” said Pan Stanislav. 


472 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“Well, is it not true?” inquired Zavilovski. “I have 
seen various things in life; but let us return to the ques- 
tion. Have you any method to make this wild cat accept 
aid, or not?” 

“Tt is necessary to think of something; but at this 
moment nothing occurs to me.” 

Thereupon Panna Helena Zavilovski, who, occupied 
with embroidery on canvas, was silent up to that moment 
as if not hearing the conversation, raised her steel cold 
eyes suddenly, and said, — 

“There is a very simple method.” 

The old noble looked at her. 

“See, she has found it! What is this simple method?” 

“Let papa deposit sufficient capital for Pan Ignas’s 
father.” 

“Tt would be better for thee not to give that advice; I 
have done enough in my life for Pan Ignas’s father, though 
I had no wish to see him, and prefer now to do something 
for Pan Ignas himself.” 

“T know; but if his father has an income assured till 
his death, Pan Ignas will be able to command that which 
he has from his mother.” 

“As God is dear to me, that is true!” said Pan Zavi- 
lovski, with astonishment. ‘‘See! we have both been break- 
ing our heads for nothing, and she has discovered it. True, 
as God is dear to me!” i 

“You are perfectly right,” said Pan Stanislav, looking 
at her with curiosity. 

But she had inclined to the embroidery her face, which 
was without expression of interest, and, as it were, faded 
before its time. 

The news of such a turn of affairs pleased Marynia and 
Pani Bigiel greatly, and gave at the same time occasion to 
speak of Panna Helena. Formerly she was considered a 
cold young lady, who placed form above everything; but 
it was said that later a way was broken through that cold- 
ness to her heart by great feeling, which, turning into a 
tragedy, turned also that society young lady into a strange 
woman, separated from people, confined to herself, jealous 
of her suffering. Some exalted her great benevolence; but 
if she was really benevolent, she did her good work so 
secretly that no one knew anything definite. It was diffi- 
cult, also, for any one to approach her, for her indifference 
was greatly like pride. Men declared that in her manner 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 473 


there was something simply contemptuous, just as if she 
could not forgive them for living. 

Pan Ignas had been in Prytulov, and returned only the 
week following the old man’s talk with Pan Stanislav, — 
that is, when the noble had deposited in the name of his 
father twice the amount of capital which had served so far 
to pay his expenses at the asylum. When he learned of 
this, Pan Ignas rushed off to thank the old man, and to 
save himself from accepting it; but Zavilovski, feeling firm 
ground under his feet, grumbled him out of his position. 

“But what hast thou to say?” asked he. “I have done 
nothing for thee; I have given thee nothing. Thou hast no 
right to receive or not to receive; and that it pleased me to 
go to the aid of a sick relative is a kind of act permitted 
to every man.” 

In fact, there was nothing to answer; hence the matter 
ended in embraces and emotion, in which these two men, 
strangers a short time before, felt that they were real 
relatives. 

Even Panna Helena herself showed “Pan Ignas” good- 
will. As to old Zavilovski, he, grieving in secret over 
this, that he had no son, took to loving the young man 
heartily. A week later, Pani Bronich, who had visited 
Warsaw on some little business, went to Yasmen to learn 
what was to be heard about the gout, and to speak of the 
young couple. When she repeated a number of times, to 
the greater praise of “ Nitechka,” that she was marrying 
a man without property, the old noble grew impatient, and 
eried, — 

“What do you say tome? God knows who makes the 
better match, even with regard to property, omitting men- 
tion of other things.” 

And Pani Bronich, who moreover endured all from the 
old truth-teller, endured smoothly even the mention of 
“other things.” Nay, a half an hour later, she spread the 
wings of her imagination sufficiently. Visiting the Pola- 
nyetskis on the way, she told them that Pan Zavilovski 
had given her a formal promise to make an entail for 
“that dear, dear Ignas,”’ with an irrepressible motherly 
feeling that at times he took the place of Lolo in her heart. 
Finally, she expressed the firm conviction that Teodor 
would have loved him no less than she, and that thereby 
sorrow for Lolo would have been less painful to both of 
them. 


474 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Pan Ignas did not know that he had taken the place of 
Lolo in Pani Bronich’s heart, nor did he know of the entail 
discovered for him, but he noticed that his relations with 
people had begun already to change. The news of that 
entail must have spread through the city with lightning- 
like swiftness, for his acquaintances greeted him in some 
fashion differently ; and even his colleagues of the bureau, 
honest people, began to be less familiar. When he returned 
from Prytulov, he had to visit all persons who had been 
present at the betrothal party at the Osnovskis’; and the 
quickness with which the visit was returned by such a man 
as Mashko, for example, testified also to the change in his 
relations. In the first period of their acquaintance, Mashko 
treated him somewhat condescendingly. Now he had not 
ceased, it is true, to be patronizing, but there was so much 
kindness and friendly confidence in his manner, such a 
feeling for poetry even. No! Mashko had nothing against 
poetry ; he would have preferred, perhaps, if Pan Ignas’s 
verses were more in the spirit of safely thinking people; 
but in general he was reconciled to the existence of poetry, 
and even praised it. His favorable inclination both to 
poetry and the poet were evident from his look, his smile, 
and the frequent repetition, “but of course, — of course, 
—but very!” Pan Ignas, who was in many regards 
naive, but at the same exceptionally intelligent, still un- 
derstood that in all this there was some pretence, hence he 
thought: ‘“ Why does this, as it were, thinking man pose in 
such style that it is evident ? ” 

And that same day he raised this question ina talk with 
the Polanyetskis; at their house it was that he had made 
Mashko’s acquaintance. 

“Were I to pose,” said he, “I should try so to pose that 
people could not recognize it.” 

“Those who pose,” answered Pan Stanislav, “count on 
this, that, though people notice the posing, still, through 
siothfulness or a lack of civic courage, they will agree to 
that which the pose is intended to express. Moreover, the 
thing is difficult. Have you noticed that women who use 
rouge lose gradually the sense of measure? It is the 
same with posing. The most intelligent lose this sense of 
measure.” 

“True,” answered Pan Ignas, “as it is true also that one 
can reproach people with everything.” _ 

“As to Mashko,” continued Pan Stanislav, “he knows, 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 475 


besides, that you are marrying a lady who passes for 
wealthy; he knows that you are a favorite with Pan Zavi- 
lovski, and perhaps he would like to approach him through 
your favor. Mashko must think of the future; for they 
tell me that the action to break the will, on which his fate 
depends, is not very favorable.” 

Such was the case really. ‘The young advocate who 
had appeared in defence of the will had shown much 
energy, adroitness, and persistence. 

Here ceased their conversation about Mashko, for Pani 
Marynia had begun to inquire about Prytulov and its inhab- 
itants, —a subject which for Pan Ignas was inexhaustible. 
In his expressive narrative, the residence at Prytulov ap- 
peared, with its lindens along the road, then its shady 
garden, ponds, reeds, alders, and on the horizon a belt of 
pine-wood. Kremen, which had faded in Marynia’s memory, 
stood before her now as if present; and, in that momentary 
revival of homesickness, she thought that sometime she 
would beg “Stas” to take her even to Vantory, to that 
little church in which she was baptized, and where her 
mother was buried. Maybe Pan Stanislav remembered 
Kremen at that moment, for, waving his hand, he said, — 

“Tt is always the same in the country. I remember 
Bukatski’s statement, that he loved the country passion- 
ately, but on condition ‘that there should be a perfect 
cook in the house, a big library, beautiful and intelligent 
women, and no obligation to stay longer than two days in 
a twelvemonth.’ And I understand him.” 

‘But still,” said Marynia, “it is thy wish to have a 
piece of land of thy own near the city.” 

“To live in our own place in summer, and not with the 
Bigiels, as we must this year.” 

“But in me,” said Pan Ignas, “certain field instincts 
revive the moment I am in the country. For that matter, 
my betrothed does not like the city, and that is enough 
for me.” 

“Does Lineta dislike the city really?” inquired Ma- 
rynia, with interest. 

“Yes, for she is a born artist. I gaze on nature too, and 
feel it; but she shows me things which I should not notice 
myself. A couple of days ago, we all went into the forest, 
where she showed me ferns in the sun, for instance. They 
are so delicate! She taught me also that the trunks of 
pine-trees, especially in the evening light, have a violet 


476 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


tone. She opens my eyes to colors which I have not seen 
hitherto, and, like a kind of enchantress going through the 
forest, discloses new worlds to me.” 

Pan Stanislav thought that all this might be a proof of 
artistic sense, but also it might be an expression of the 
fashion, and of that universal love for painting color which 
people talk into themselves, and in which any young lady 
at present may be occupied, not from love of art, but for 
show. He had not occupied himself with painting; but he 
noticed that, for society geese, it had become of late a 
merchandise, exhibited willingly in Vanity Fair, or, in other 
words, a means to show artistic culture and an artistic 
soul. 

But he kept these thoughts to himself; and Pan Ignas 
talked on, — 

“ Besides, she loves village children immensely. She 
says that they are such perfect models, and less vulgarized 
than the little Italians. When there is good weather, we 
are all day in the fresh air, and we have become sunburnt, 
both of us. I am learning to play tennis, and make great 
progress. It is very easy, but goes hard at first. Osnovski 
plays passionately, so as not to grow fat. It is difficult to 
tell what a kind and high-minded person that man is.” 

Pan Stanislav, who during his stay in Belgium had 
played tennis no less passionately than Osnovski, began to 
boast of his skill, and said, — 

“If I had been there, I should have shown you how to 
play tennis.” 

“Me you might,” answered Pan Ignas; “but they play 
perfectly, especially Kopovski.” 

“Ah, is Kopovski in Prytulov ?” asked Pan Stanislav. 

“ He is,” said Pan Ignas. 

And suddenly they looked into each other’s eyes. In one 
instant each divined that the other knew something ; 
and they stopped talking. A moment of silence and even of 
awkwardness ensued, for Pani Marynia blushed unexpect- 
edly; and not being able to hide this, she blushed still 
more deeply. 

Pan Ignas, who had thought that he was the exclusive 
possessor of the secret, was astonished at seeing her blush, 
and was confused too; then, wishing to cover the confusion 
with talk, he went on hurriedly, — 

“ Yes; Kopovski is in Prytulov. Osnovski invited him, 
so that Lineta might finish his portraits, for later on there 





——— rt 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 477 


will be no time. Besides, there is a relative of Osnovski’s 
there also, Panna Ratkovski; and I think that Kopovski is 
courting her. She is a pleasing and quiet young lady. In 
August we are all going to Scheveningen, for those ladies 
do not like Ostend. If Pan Zavilovski had not come with 
such cordial assistance to my father, I should not have 
been able to go; but now my hands are free.” 

When he had said this, he began to talk with Pan Stan- 
islav about his position in the counting-house, which he did 
not wish to leave. On the contrary, he asked a leave of 
some months, in view of exceptional circumstances; then 
he took farewell and went out, for he was in a hurry to 
write to his betrothed. Ina couple of days he was to go 
to Prytulov again; but meanwhile he wrote sometimes even 
twice a day. And on the way to his lodgings he composed 
to himself the words of the letter, for he knew that Lineta 
would read it in company with Pani Bronich; that both 
would seek in it not only heart but wings; and that the 
most beautiful passages would be read in secret to Pani 
Aneta, Pan Osnovski, and even Panna Ratkoyski. But he 
did not take this ill of his beloved ‘‘ Nitechka,’”’ —nay, he 
was thankful to her that she was proud of him; and he used 
all his power to answer to her lofty idea of him. The 
thought did not anger him either, that people would know 
how he loved her. ‘ Let them know that she was loved as 
no one else in the world.” 

He thought then a little of Marynia too. Her blushes 
moved him, for he saw in them a proof of a most pure 
nature, which not only was incapable of evil itself, but 
which was even ashamed, offended, and alarmed by evil in 
others. And, comparing her with Pani Aneta, he under- 
stood what a precipice divided those women, apparently 
near each other by social position and mental level. 

When Pan Ignas had gone, Pan Stanislav said, — 

‘Hast thou seen that Zavilovski must have noticed 
something? Now I have no doubt. That Osnovski is blind, 
blind!” 

“ Just his blindness should restrain and hold her back,” 
said Marynia. “That would be terrible.” 

“That is not ‘would be,’ it is terrible. Thou seest, 
noble souls pay for confidence with gratitude; mean ones, 
with contempt.” 


478 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER LI. 


TuEsE words were a great consolation to Marynia, for, 
remembering her previous alarms, she thought at once that 
Pan Stanislav would not have said anything like them had 
he been capable of betraying her confidence; for she did 
not suppose that a man can have one measure for his 
neighbors and another for himself, and that in life these 
different measures meet at every step. She said to herself 
that to restrain her husband from everything, it was enough 
to show perfect trust in him; and she thought now with less 
fear of the nearness of Pani Kraslavski’s country house to 
the house of the Bigiels, in which she and her husband 
were to pass the summer. It was easy to divine that Pani 
Mashko, who had moved already into her mother’s house, 
would be a frequent guest at the Bigiels’ from very tedium. 
Mashko did not send her to Kremen, for he did not wish to 
be separated from her during summer. From Warsaw, 
where he had to be on business, it was easy to go every day 
to Pani Kraslavski’s villa, one hour’s ride from the city 
barrier, while to distant Kremen such journeys were not 
possible. To Mashko, really in love with his wife, her 
presence was requisite to give him strength, for trying 
times had come again. The case against the will was not 
lost yet by any means; but it had taken a turn which was 
unfavorable, since the defence was very vigorous. It had 
begun to drag, so people began to doubt; and for Mashko 
doubt approached defeat. His credit. almost fallen at the 
opening of the case, had bloomed forth lke an apple-tree in 
spring, but was beginning now to waver a second time. 
Sledz (the opposing advocate), hostile personally to Mashko, 
and in general a man of strong will, not only did not cease 
to spread news of the evil plight of his opponent, but strove 
that doubts as to the favorable issue of the will case 
should make their way into the press. A merciless legal 
and personal warfare set in. Mashko strove with every 
effort to lame his enemy; and when they met, he bore 
himself defiantly. This brought no advantage, however. 
Credit became more and more difficult; and creditors, 
though so far paid regularly, lost confidence. Again a 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 470 


feverish hunt began for money, to stop one debt with an- 
other, and uphold the opinion of ready solvency. Mashko 
exhibited such intelligence and energy in this struggle 
- that, had it not been for the fundamental error in his life 
relations, he would have advanced to fame and great pros- 
perity. 

The breaking of the will might save all, but to break the 
will it was needful to wait; meanwhile to mend threads 
breaking here and there was difficult as well as humiliating. 
It came to this, that in two weeks after the Polanvetskis 
had moved to Bigiel’s, when the Mashkos came to them 
with a visit, Mashko was forced to ask of Pan Stanislay a 
“friendly service; ” that is, his signature to a note for a 
few thousand rubles. 

Pan Stanislav was by nature an obliging man and inclined 
to be liberal, but he had his theory, which in money affairs 
enjoined on him to be difficult, hence he refused his sig- 
nature; but to make up he treated Mashko to his views on 
money questions between friends, — 

“When it is a question not of a mutually profitable 
affair,” said he to him, “but of a personal service, I refuse 
on principle to sign; but I will oblige with ready money 
as far as an acquaintance or a friend may need it in tem- 
porary embarrassment, but not in a desperate position. In 
this last case I prefer to keep my service till later.” 

“That means,” answered Mashko, dryly, “that thou art 
giving me a small hope of support when I am bankrupt.” 

“No; it means that should a catastrophe come, and 
thou borrow of me, thou’lt be able to keep the loan, or 
begin something anew with that capital. At present thou 
wilt throw it into the gulf, with loss to me, without profit 
to thyself.” 

Mashko was offended. 

“My dear friend,” said he, “thou seest my position in a 
worse light than I myself see it, and than it is in reality. 
It is merely a temporary trouble, and a small one. I 
esteem thy good wishes, but this very day I would not give 
my prospects for thy actual property. Now I have one 
other friendly request; namely, that we speak no more 
of this.” 

And they went to the ladies, — Mashko angry at himself 
for having made the request, and Pan Stanislav for having 
refused it. His theory, that in money questions it was 
proper to be unaccommodating, caused him such bitter 





480 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


moments more than once, not to mention the harm which it 
had done hin in life. 

When with the ladies his ill-humor increased because of 
the contrast between Pani Mashko and Marynia. To 
Mashko’s intense disappointment nothing announced that 
Pani Mashko was to be a mother. On the contrary, she 
preserved all the slenderness of maiden forms; and now, 
especially in her muslin summer robes, she looked, near 
Marynia, who was greatly changed and unwieldy, not only 
like a maiden, but younger than her neighbor by some 
years. Pan Stanislav, to whom it had seemed that the 
strange attraction which she exercised on him was over- 
come, felt suddenly that it was not, and that because of their 
living near each other, and of his seeing her frequently, he 
would yield more and more to her physical charm. 

Still his relations with his wife had become warmer 
since Pan Ignas’s betrothal evening, and Marynia was in 
better spirits than before; so now after the Mashkos had 
gone, she, seeing that the men had parted more coolly than 
usual and that in general Pan Stanislav was ill-humored, 
inquired if they had not quarrelled. 

Pan Stanislav had not the habit of talking with her 
about business; but at this moment he was dissatisfied with 
himself, and felt that need of telling what troubled his 
mind which a man who is somewhat egotistical feels when 
he is sure that he will find sympathy in a heart devoted 
to him. Therefore he said, — 

“T refused Mashko a loan; and I tell thee sincerely that 
it pains me now that I did so. He has certain chances of 
success yet; but his position is such that before he reaches 
his object he may be ruined by any obstacle. Of course we 
have never been in friendship; I almost do not like him. 
He irritates, he angers me; still life brings us together con- 
stantly, and he rendered us once a great service. It is true 
that I have rendered him services too; but now he has a 
knife at his throat again.” 

Marynia heard these words with pleasure, for she 
thought that if “Stas” were really under the charm of 
Pani Mashko, he would not have refused the loan, and 
second, she saw in his sorrow the proof of a good heart. 
She too was sorry for their neighbor, but as she had 
brought her husband hardly any dower, she did not venture 
to ask “Stas” directly to assist Mashko, she merely 
inquired, — 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 481 


“ But dost thou think that the loan would be lost ? ” 

“Perhaps so, perhaps not,’ answered Pan Stanislav. 
Then with a certain boastfulness: “I can refuse. Bigiel 
has a softer heart.” 

“ But don’t say that. ‘Thou art so kind. The best proof 
is this, that the present mutter is so disagreeable to thee.” 

“Naturally it cannot be agreeable to think that a man, 
though a stranger, is squirming like a snake because of a 
few thousand rubles. I know what the question is. 
Mashko has given to-morrow as’ the last day of payment. 
Hitherto he has sought money everywhere, but sought 
guardedly, not wishing to make a noise and alarm his 
creditors ; and in straits he relied on me. So thou seest, 
he will not pay to-morrow. I will suppose that ina few 
days he will find money as much as he needs; but mean- 
while the opinion of his accuracy will be shaken, and in the 
position in which he is anything may be ruin for him.” 

Marynia looked at her husband; at last she said with a 
certain timidity, — 

“ And would this be really difficult for thee ?” 

“Tf thou wish the truth, not at all. I have even a check- 
book here with me; I took it to give earnest-money, if I 
found a place to buy. Oh, interest in a former adorer 
and sympathy for him give me something to think of,” 
said he, laughing. 

Marynia laughed too, for she was glad that she had 
brightened her husband’s face; but, shaking her charming 
head, she said, — 

“No! not sympathy for an adorer, but vile egotism, for 
I think to myself, are the two thousand rubles worth the 
sorrow of my husband ?” 

Pan Stanislav began to smooth her hair with his hand. 

‘‘But thou,” said he, “art an honest little woman to thy 
bones.” 

Then he said, “ Well, now, decide ; one, two, three! to 
give ?.”” 

She made no answer, but began to wink her eyes like a 
petted child, as a sign to give. Both became joyous at 
once; but Pan Stanislav pretended to complain and mutter. 

“See what it is to be under the slipper. Drag on through 
the night, man, and beg Pan Mashko to take thy money, 
because it pleases that fondled figure there.” 

And her heart was overflowing with delight, simply that 


he called her a “fondled figure.” All her former sorrows 
3l 


482 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


and alarms vanished as if enchanted by those words. Her 
radiant eyes looked at her husband with indescribable love. 
After a while she inquired, — 

“Ts it necessary to go there right away ? ” 

“Of course. Mashko will go to the city at eight in the 
morning, and be flying all day.” 

“ Then give order to make Bigiel’s horse ready.” 

“No! The moon is shining, and it is not far; I’ll go 
on foot.” 

Thus saying, he took farewell of Marynia, and, seizing his 
check-book, went out. On the road he thought,— 

“But Marynia might be applied to a wound. She is 
such a golden woman that though at times a man might 
like to play some prank, he simply has n’t the heart for it. 
God has given me a wife of the kind of which there are 
few on earth.” 

And he felt at the moment that he loved her in truth. 
He felt also that love alone in itself, as a mutual attraction 
between persons of different sexes, is not happiness yet, 
and if ill directed may be even a misfortune; but that, on 
the other hand, the imagination of people cannot dream 
out a truer happiness on earth than great and honest love 
in marriage. “There is nothing superior to that,” said Pan 
Stanislav to himself; “and to think that it lies at hand; 
that it is accessible to each one; that it is simply an affair 
of good and honest will; and that people trample on that 
ready treasure and sacrifice their peace for disturbance, 
and their honor for dishonor.” 

Thus meditating, he went to the villa of the Mashkos, 
the windows of which were shining like lanterns on the dark 
ground of the forest. When he had passed through the 
gate to the yard lighted by the moon, and had drawn near 
the porch, he saw, through the window of the room next 
the entrance, Mashko and his wife, sitting on a low sofa 
formed like a figure eight, near which was a small table 
and a lamp. Mashko was embracing his wife with one 
arm ; with his other hand he held her hand, which he raised 
to his lips, and then lowered, as if thanking her. All at 
once he embraced the young woman, with both arms drew 
her toward him, and inclining, began to kiss her mouth 
passionately ; she, with hands dropped without control on 
her knees, not returning his fondling, but also not refusing, 
yielded as passively as if she had been deprived of blood 
and will. For atime Pan Stanislav saw only the top of 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 483 


Mashko’s head, his long side whiskers moving from the 
kissing; and at sight of that the blood rushed to his head. 
And he was dashed with just such a flood of desire as 
when looking for the ribbons of Pani Osnovski’s mantle 
(in Rome), and the more burning that it was strengthened 
by a whole series of temptations. This purely physical 
attraction, surprising to Pan Stanislav himself, and with 
which he had struggled long, revived now with irresistible 
force. Ina twinkle were roused in him the wild instinets 
of the primitive man, who, when he sees the woman 
desired in the embrace of another, is enraged and ready 
to fight to the death for her with the fortunate rival. 
Together with desire, jealousy burned him, —an unjust, a 
pitiful, and the lowest of all kinds of jealousy, because 
purely physical, but still so unbridled that he, who the 
moment before had understood that only honest love for a 
wife might be real happiness, was ready to trample that 
happiness and that love, if he could trample Mashko, and 
seize himself in his arms that slender body of a woman, 
and cover with kisses that face of a puppet, without mind, 
and less beautiful than the face of his own wife. 

That sight beyond the window not only excited him, 
but he could not suffer it; hence he sprang to the door and 
pulled the bell feverishly. The thought that that sound, 
heard on a sudden in the silence, would stop that fondling 
of husband and wife roused a savage and malicious delight 
in him. When the servant opened the door, Pan Stanislay 
gave command to announce him, and endeavored to ealin 
himself and compose somehow that which he had to tell 
Mashko. 

After a while Mashko came out with a face somewhat 
astonished, — 

“ Pardon that I come so late, but my wife scolded me 
because I refused thee a service; and since I knew that 
thou wilt go early in the morning, I have come to settle the 
business to-night.” 

On Mashko’s face a secret joy was reflected. He divined 
straightway that such a late visit from his neighbor had 
relation to their previous talk; he did not hope, however, 
that the affair would go so smoothly and at once. 

“T beg thee,” said he. “My wife is not sleeping yet.” 

And he brought him into that room the interior of 
which Pan Stanislav had seen the minute before. Pani 
Mashko was sitting on the same sofa; in her hand she held 


484 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


a book and a paper-knife, which evidently she had taken 
from the table that moment. Her quenched face seemed 
calm, but traces of the fresh kisses were evident on her 
cheeks; her lips were moist, her eyes misty. The blood 
seethed up again in Pan Stanislav; and in spite of all 
efforts to keep himself indifferent, he so pressed the hand 
given him that Pani Mashko’s lips contracted as if from. 
ain. 
E But when he touched her hand, a shiver ran through him 
’ from feet to crown. There was in that very giving of her 
hand something so passive that it ran through his head in- 
voluntarily that that woman was not capable of resisting any 
man who had the courage and daring to attack her directly. 

Meanwhile Mashko said, — 

“Imagine to thyself, we have both raised a storm, — thou 
for refusing me a service, and I for requesting it. Thou 
hast an honest wife, but mine is no worse. Thine took me 
into her protection, and mine thee. I revealed to her 
plainly my temporary trouble, and she scolded me for not 
having done so before. Evidently she did not speak to 
me as a lawyer, for of that she has no idea; but in the end 
of ends she said that Pan Polanyetski refused me justly ; 
that one should give some security to a creditor; and this 
security she is ready to give with her life annuity, and in 
general with all that she has. I was just thanking her 
when you came.” Here Mashko laid his hand on Pan 
Stanislav’s arm. 

“My dear friend, I agree with thee that thy wife is the 
best person on earth; and I agree all the more that I have 
fresh proof of it, on condition, however, that thou assure 
me that mine is no worse. It ought not to surprise thee, 
then, that I hide my troubles from her, for, as God is true, 
I am always ready to share the good with such a beloved 
one, but the evil, especially the temporary, to keep for 
myself; and if thou knew her as I do, this would be no 
wonder to thee.” 

Pan Stanislav, who, despite all the temptation which 
Pani Mashko was for him, entertained by no means a high 
opinion of the woman, and had not considered her in the 
least as capable of sacrifice, thought, — 

“She is, in truth, a good woman; and I was mistaken, 
or Mashko has lied to her, so that she really considers his 
position as brilliant, and this trouble as purely a passing 
one.” And he said aloud to her, — 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 485 


“T am an accurate man in business; but for whom do you 
hold me, when you think that I would ask security on 
_your property? I refused simply through sloth, and I am 
terribly ashamed of it; I refused to avoid golng at a given 
time to Warsaw for a new supply. In summer a man 
becomes lazy and egotistical. But the question is a small 
one; and toa man like your husband, who is oceupied in 
property, such troubles happen daily. Not infrequently 
loans are needed only because one’s own money cannot be 
raised at a given moment.” : 

“Just that has happened to me,” answered Mashko, 
satisfied, evidently, that Pan Stanislav had presented 
affairs to his wife in this manner. 

“Mamma occupied herself with business, therefore I 
have no knowledge of it,” put in Pani Mashko; “but J 
thank you.” 

Pan Stanislav began to laugh. “Finally, what do I 
want of your security? Suppose for a moment that you 
will be bankrupt, and I will suppose so just because noth- 
ing similar threatens you; can you imagine me in such 
an event bringing an action against you, and taking your 
income?” ; 

“No,” said Pani Mashko. 

Pan Stanislav raised her hand to his lips, but with all 
the seeming of society politeness; he pressed his lips to it 
with all his force, and at the same time there was in the 
look that he gave her such passion that no declaration in 
words could have said more. 

She did not wish to betray that she understood, though 
she understood well that the show of politeness was for 
her husband, and the power of the kiss for herself. She 
understood, also, that she pleased Pan Stanislav, that her 
beauty attracted him; still better, however, she understood 
that she was triumphing over Marynia, of whose beauty, 
while still unmarried, she was jealous, hence, first of all, 
she felt her self-love deeply satisfied. For that matter she 
had noticed for a long time that Pan Stanislav was ardent 
in her presence; hers was not a nature either so honest 
or so delicate that that action could offend or pain her. 
On the contrary, it roused in her curiosity, interest, and 
vanity. Instinct warned her, it is true, that he is an 
insolent man, who, at a given moment, is ready to push 
matters too far, — and that thought filled her at times with 
alarm; but since nothing similar had happened yet, the 
very fear had a charm for her. 


486 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 

Meanwhile she said to Pan Stanislav, — 

“Mamma mentions you always as a man to be relied on 
in every case.” 

She said this with her usual thin voice, which Pan 
Stanislav had laughed at before more than once; but now 
everything in her became more attractive thereby, and 
hence, looking her fixedly in the eyes, he said, — 

“Think the same of me. ” 

“Have mutual confidence in each other,” put in Mashko, 
jestingly; “but I will go to my study to prepare what is 
needed, and in a moment we will finish the matter.” 

Pani Mashko and her guest were left alone. On her face 
a certain trouble was apparent. ‘To hide this she began to 
straighten the shade on the lamp; but he approached her 
quickly, and began, — 

“T shall be happy if you think the same of me. Iam 
a man greatly devoted to you; I should be glad to have 
even your friendship. Can I rely on it?” 

“You can.” 

“T thank you.” 

When he had said this, he extended his hand to her, for 
all that he had said was directed only to this, to get pos- 
session of her hand. In fact, Pani Mashko did not dare to 
refuse it; and he, seizing it, pressed it to his lips a second 
time, but this time he did not stop with one kiss, —he fell 
to devouring it almost. It grew dark in his eyes. A 
moment more, and in his madness he would have seized 
and drawn that desired one toward him. Meanwhile, 
however, Mashko’s squeaking boots were heard in the 
adjoining room; hearing which, Pani Mashko began to 
speak first, hurriedly, — 

““My husband is coming.” 

At that moment Mashko opened the door, and said, — 

“T beg thee.” 

Then, turning to his wife, he added, — 

“Give command at once to bring tea; we will return 
soon.” 

In fact, the business did not occupy much time, for Pan 
Stanislav filled out a check, and that was the end. But 
Mashko treated him to a cigar, and asked him to sit down, 
for he wished to talk. 

“New troubles are rolling on to me,” said he; “but I 
shall wade out. More than once I have had to do with 
greater ones. It is only a question of this, — that the sun 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 457 


should get ahead of the dew, and that I should open some 
new credit for inyself, or some new source of income, before 
the conclusion of the will case, and in support of it.” 

Pan Stanislav, all roused up internally, listened to this 
beginning of confidences with inattention, and chewed his 
cigar impatiently. On a sudden, however, the dishonest 
thought came to him that, were Mashko to be ruined 
utterly, his wife would be a still easier prey; hence he 
asked dryly, — 

“Hast thought of this, what thou art to do should the 
case be lost?” 

“T shall not lose it.” 

“Everything may happen; thou knowest that best 
thyself.” 

“T do not wish to think of it.” 

“Still it’s thy duty,” said Pan Stanislav, with an accent 
of a certain pleasure, which Mashko did not notice. “ What 
wilt thou do in such a case?” 

Mashko rested his arms on his knees, and looking 
gloomily on the floor, said, — 

“Tn such a case I shall have to leave Warsaw.’ 

A moment of silence came. The young advocate’s face 
became gloomier and gloomier; at last he grew thoughtful, 
and said, — 

“Once, in my best days, I knew Baron Hirsh, in Paris. 
We met a number of times, and once we took part in some 
affair of honor. Sometimes now, when doubts come upon 
me, I remember him; he has withdrawn, apparently, from 
business, but really bas much on hand, especially in the 
Fast. I know men who have made fortunes by him, for 
the field there is open at every step.” 

“Dost think it possible to go to him?” 

“Yes; but besides that I can shoot into my forehead.” 

But Pan Stanislav did not take this threat seriously. 
From that short conversation he convinced himself of two 
things: first, that Mashko, in spite of apparent confidence, 
thought often of possible ruin; and second, that in such an 
event he had a plan, fantastic, it may be, but ready. 

Mashko shook himself suddenly out of his gloomy visions, 
and said, — 

“My strength has lain always in this, —that I never think 
of two things at once. Therefore I am thinking only of 
the will case. That scoundrel will do everything to ruin 
me in public opinion, I know that; but I sneer at publie 


5) 


488 CHILDREN OF THE SOI. 


opinion, and care only for the court. Should I fail before 
the decision, that might have a bad influence, perhaps. 
Dost understand? They would consider the whole case 
then as the despairing ettort of a drowning man, who grasps 
at what he can. I have no wish for that position; there- 
fore I must seem to be a man standing on tirm feet. This 
is a sad necessity, and I am not free now to be even 
economical. I cannot diminish my scale of living. As 
thou seest me, I have troubles to my ears; as for that 
matter, who knows it better than thou, who art giving me 
a loan? And still, as late as yesterday, I was buying 
Vyborz, a considerable property in Ravsk, simply to throw 
dust in the eyes of my creditors and opponents. ‘Tell me, 
dost thou know old Zavilovski well?” 

“Not long. I made his acquaintance through the young 
man.” 

“But thou hast pleased him, for he has immense admira- 
tion for men with noble names who make property. I 
know that he is his own agent; but he is growing old, and 
the gout is annoying him. I have put several thoughts 
before him; therefore, if he asks thee about anything, 
recommend me. Understand that I do not wish to get at 
his money chest, though, as agent, I should have some 
income, which would be greatly to my hand; but the main 
question for me is that it should become noised abroad 
that I am the agent of such a millionnaire. Is it true that 
he intends to create an entail for the young man out of his 
estates in Poznan?” 

“So Pani Bronich says.” 

“That would be a proof that it is not true; but all 
things are possible. In every case the young man, too, 
will receive with his wife a certain dower; and, being a 
poet, he has not the least idea, surely, how to handle such 
matters. I might serve him, too, with advice and aid.” 

“T must refuse you decisively in his name, for we have 
engaged to occupy ourselves with his interests in future, — 
that is, my partner and I.” 

“Tt is not a question with me of his interest either,” 
said Mashko, frowning slightly, “but that I might tell 
people that I am Zavilovski’s agent; for, dost understand, 
before it is known which Zavilovski, my credit can only 
gain by it?” 

“Thou knowest that I never look into other men’s busi- 
ness; but I tell thee sincerely that for me it would bea 
terrible thing to exist in this way only on credit.” 





ee ee 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 489 


“Ask the greatest millionnaires on earth 
fortunes on another basis.” 

“And ask all bankrupts if they did not fail from that 
cause. 

“As to me, the future will show.” 

“Tt will,” said Pan Stanislav, rising. 

Mashko thanked him once more for the loan; and both 
went to tea to the lady, who inquired, — 

“Well, the business is finished?” 

Pan Stanislav, whom her appearance roused 
who remembered suddenly that a little while before she 
said to him, “My husband is coming!” as if half guilty 
answered her without reference to Mashko, — + 

**Between your husband and me it is, but between us two 
—not yet.” 

Pani Mashko, though she had cool blood, was still con- 
fused, as if frightened at his daring; and Mashko asked, — 

“How is that?” 

“This way,” answered Pan Stanislav: “that the lady 
thought me capable of asking her property in pledge, and 
I cannot pardon her that yet.” 

Pani Mashko looked at him with her indefinite gray 
eyes, as if with a certain admiration. His boldness had 
imposed on her, and the presence of mind with which he 
was able to give a polite society turn to his words. He 
seemed to her also at that moment a fine-looking man, 
beyond comparison better-looking than Mashko. 

“TI beg pardon,” said she. 

“That will not be given easily. You do not know what 
a stubborn and vengeful man I am.” 

Then she answered with a certain coquetry, like a person 
conscious of her charm and her power, — 

“T don’t believe that.” 

He sat near her; and taking, with a somewhat uncertain 
hand, the cup, he began to stir the tea with the spoon. 
Greater and greater alarm seized him. More than once 
before he had called Pani Mashko, while unmarried, a 
fish; but now he felt warmth passing through her light 
garments from her body, and felt as if some one were 
scattering sparks on him. Again he remembered her words, 
“My husband is coming; ” and waves of blood rushed to his 
heart, for it seemed to him that only a woman could speak 
thus who was prepared and ready for everything. Some 
voice in his soul said, “That is only a question of oppor- 


if they made 


again, and 


490 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


tunity;” and at this thought his unbridled desire was 
turned at once to unbridled delight. He ceased altogether 
to control himself. Soon he began to seek her foot with 
his; but suddenly that act seemed to him passing rude and 
peasant-like. Finally he said to himself that since it was 
a question of opportunity only, he ought to know how to 
wait. He foresaw that the time would come, the oppor- 
tunity be found. 

Meanwhile his position was awkward; he had to keep 
up aconversation quite in disaccord with the state of his 
mind, and to answer Mashko, who asked about the future 
plans of Pan Ignas, and various things of like tenor. At 
last he rose to leave; but before going, he turned and said 
to Mashko, — 

“Some dogs attacked me on the way, and I forgot my 
cane; lend me thine.” 

No dogs had attacked, but with him it was a ques- 
tion of remaining even one minute alone with the 
young woman, so that when Mashko went out he ap- 
proached her quickly, and said, with a sort of stifled and 
unnatural voice, — 

“You see what is taking place with me?” 

She saw, indeed, his excitement, his eyes glittering with 
desire, and his distended nostrils. Alarm and fear seized 
her at once; but he remembered only her words, “M 
husband is coming,” and one feeling, described by the 
words, “let happen what may,” made the man, who, a 
moment before, said to himself that he ought to know how 
to wait, put everything on one card in the twinkle of an 
eye, and whisper, — 

“T love you.” 

She stood before him with downcast eyes, as if stunned, 
and turned into a pillar under the influence of those words, 
from which simple infidelity must begin, and then a new 
epoch in life. She turned her head away slightly, as if 
to avoid his gaze. Silence followed, broken only by the 
somewhat panting breath of Pan Stanislav. But in the 
next room Mashko’s squeaking boots were heard. 

**Till to-morrow,” said Pan Stanislav. 

And in that whisper there was something almost com- 
inanding. Pani Mashko stood all this time with downcast 
eves, motionless as a statue. 

“Here is the cane,” said Mashko. “To-morrow morning 
1 go to the city, and return only in the evening. If the 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL 491 
weather is good, maybe thou and Pani Polanyetski would 
like to visit my hermitess.” 

“Good-night,” said Pan Stanislav. 

And after a while he found himself on the empty road, 
which was lighted by the moon. It seemed to him that he 
had sprung out of a flame. The calm of the night and the 
forest was in such contrast to his tempest that it struck 
him like something uncommon. ‘The first impression which 
he was able to note was the feeling that his internal con- 
flict was closed, his hesitations ended; that the bridges 
were burned, and all was over. Some internal voice began 
to shout in his soul that first of all it had transpired 
that he was a wretch; but in this thought precisely there 
was a kind of desperate solace, for he said to himself if 
it were true, he must come to terms with himself as 
with a wretch, and in that event ‘‘let everything perish, 
and let the devils take all.” In every case a wretch will 
not need to fight with his own inclinations, and may 
indulge himself. Yes, all is over, and the bridges are 
burned! He will be false to Marynia, trample her heart, 
trample honesty, trample the principles on which he built 
his life; but in return he will have Pani Mashko. Now 
one of two, either she will complain of him to her hus- 
band, and to-morrow there will be a duel,—if so be, 
let it come, —or she will be silent, and in that case will 
be his partner. To-morrow Mashko will go to Warsaw; 
and he, Pan Stanislav, will gain all that he desires, even 
if the world had to sink the next moment. If she will not 
expose him, it is better for her not to try resistance. He 
imagined even that she would not try, or if she did, she 
would do so only to preserve appearances. And it began 
to seethe in him again; that helplessness of hers, which 
formerly roused so much contempt in him, had become 
now an additional charm. He imagined the morrow, and 
the passiveness of that woman. In spite of all his chaos 
of thought, he understood perfectly that just in that pas- 
siveness she would seek later on an excuse: she would say 
to herself that she was not a partaker in the guilt, because 
she was forced to it; and in this way she would calumniate 
God, her own conscience, and, if need be, her hus- 
band. And thinking thus, he despised her as much as 
he desired her; but he felt at the same time that he him- 
self was not much worthier, and that by virtue of a certain 
selection, not only natural, but moral, they ought to belong 
to each other. 


492 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


He understood, also, that for him it was too late to with- 
draw from that road, and that once those same lips of his, 
which had sworn faith and love to Marynia, had said to 
another woman, “I love!” the greatest evil was com- 
mitted. The rest was simply a sequence, which it was not 
proper to reject, even for this reason, —that in every case 
it was a pleasure. He imagined that all must reason thus 
who throw honesty through the window, and resolve on 
deeds of vileness; and the reasoning seemed to him as 
exact as it was immoral. And the more soberly he re- 
flected, the more he was astonished at his own degradation. 
He had seen much evil and hidden vileness in the world 
under the guise of refinement and polish. He knew that 
corruption had worked out for itself, somehow, under the 
influence of bad books, a right of citizenship; but he re- 
membered that he was indignant at this, that he wished 
simplicity and strictness for the society in which he lived, 
in the conviction that only on such bases could social 
strength and permanence be developed. Nothing had 
roused in him so many fears for the future as that refined 
evil of the West sown on the wild Slav field, and growing 
up on it with a sickly bloom of dilettantism, license, 
weakness, and faithlessness. More than once, as he re- 
membered, he had reproached with such sowings, at one 
time high financial spheres, at another aristocracy of 
birth; and more than once he had attacked them without 
mercy. Now he understood that whoso lives in an atmos- 
phere filled with carbonic gas, must suffocate. In what 
was he better than others? Or rather, how much worse 
was he than those who, floating in corruption, as sticks 
float in water, do not, at least, amuse themselves with 
hypocrisy, nor deceive themselves, nor prescribe rules to 
others, nor erect ideals of a healthy man spiritually, an 
honest husband, an honest father, as a binding model. 
And he almost refused to believe that he was the man 
who once gave Pani Emilia ideal friendship, and prom- 
ised faithfulness to Marynia, and who considered that 
he had a clear intellect and a character juster and stronger 
than others. 

He stronger? His strength was only deception, coming 
from lack of temptation. If he had loved Pani Emilia 
with the ideal feeling of a brother; if he had resisted the 
coquetry of Pani Aneta, — it was only because they did not 
rouse in him that animal feeling which that puppet with her 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 493 


red eyes roused, she whom his soul rejected, but for whom 
his senses were striving this long time. He thought then, 
too, that his feeling for Marynia had never been honest, 
for at the basis of things it was not anything else than just 
such an animal attraction. Familiarity had dulled it; and, 
restrained by the condition of Marynia, he had turned to 
where he was able, and turned without restraint or scruple 
hardly half a year after his marriage. 

And Pan Stanislav, who, on leaving Mashko’s house, 
had the feeling that he was a wretch, thought all at once 
that he was more of a wretch than at first he had imagined, 
for he remembered now that he was to be a father. 

At home, in Marynia’s windows, the lights had not been 
extinguished; he would have given much to find her sleep- 
ing. It came to his mind, even, to walk on and not return 
till there was darkness in the chamber. But suddenly he 
saw her profile in the window. She must be looking for 
him; and, since it was clear in front of the house, she 
must have seen him, — hence he halted and went in. 

She received him in a white night wrapper, and with 
unbound hair. There was in that unbound hair a certain 
calculated coquetry, for she knew that she had beautiful 
hair, and that he liked to fondle it. 

“Why art thou not sleeping?” asked he, coming in. 

She approached hin, sleepy, but smiling, and said, — 

“T was waiting for thee to say the evening prayer.” 

Since their stay in Rome they had prayed together; but 
at present the very thought of this seemed to him insup- 
portable. Meanwhile Marynia inquired, — 

“Well, Stas, art content that thou hast saved him? Thou 
aiecels chink.” 

“Yes,” answered he. 

“But she does not know of his position ?” 

“She does and does not. It is late. Let us go to sleep.” 

*Good-night. Dost thou know of what I have been 
thinking here alone? That thou art so good and honest.” 

And, extending her face to him, she put her arms around 
his neck; he kissed her, feeling at the same time the pure 
honesty of her kiss, and his own vileness, and the whole 
series of vilenesses which he would have to commit later on. 

One of these he committed right there, kneeling down to 
the prayer, which Marynia repeated aloud. He could not 
avoid saying it; and in saying it, he merely played a pitiful 
comedy, for he could not pray. 


494 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


After the prayer was finished and a second good-night 
given, he could not sleep. It seemed to him that, when 
coming from Mashko’s, he had embraced with his mind his 
action and all its moral consequences. Meanwhile it turned 
out that he had not. It came to his head now that it is 
possible not to believe in God, but not permitted to make 
sport of Him. To commit, for example, a perfidy, to return 
home to-morrow, or the following day, after having com- 
mitted adultery, and kneel down to prayer, that would be 
too much. He felt that it was necessary to choose either 
religious feeling and sincere faith, or Pani Mashko. 
To reconcile these was not possible. And all at once he 
saw that everything which he had worked out and elabo- 
rated in himself purposely for years, that all that immense 
calm, resulting from the solution of life’s chief enigma, 
—in a word, that which composed the essence of his spiritual 
existence, — must be rejected outright. On the other hand, 
he understood equally well that, from to-morrow forward, he 
must give the lie to his own social principles, to his recog- 
nition of the family as the basis of social existence. It is 
not permitted to proclaim such principles, and seduce other 
men’s wives in secret. It was necessary to choose here too. 
As to Marynia, perfidy against her had been committed al- 
ready. With one sweep, then, his relations with God, witha 
society, with his wife, had gone to ruin; the ceiling of that 
spiritual house, reared with great labor, and in which he had 
been dwelling, had tumbled on his head. And that chilling 
cold of evil filled him with wonder. He had not expected 
that, on cutting a single thread, the whole fabric would un- 
ravel so quickly; and with astonishment he asked himself 
how there can exist in the world opportunism of that kind, 
which reconciles faith-breaking in life with honesty and 
honor? For that is what is done. He knew many so-called 
decent people, married men, loving their wives, as it were, 
religious, — and at the same time pursuing every woman 
they met. These same men, who would account to their 
wives every deviation from duty as a crime, permitted them- 
selves conjugal infidelity without a scruple. He remembered 
how one of his acquaintances, pushed to the wall on this 
point, wriggled out humorously with the well-known street 
witticism that he was not a Swedish match. Absolute in- 
fidelity was obliterated, and among men passed as something 
permitted, almost customary. That thought brought Pan 
Stanislav a moment of consolation, but a short one, for he 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 495 


was consistent, if not in his actions, at least in his reason- 
Ing. True! The world is not composed of thieves and 
hypocrites alone, but in great part of thoughtless and 
frivolous people; and this opportunism, reconciling adul- 
tery with honor and honesty, is nothing else than frivolity. 
For In what can custom excuse a man, who recognizes the 
immorality and stupidity of that custom? For a fool, in- 
fidelity may be a joke, thought Pan Stanislav; for a man 
who thinks seriously, it is scoundrelism, as much opposed 
to ethics as a crime, as the signing of other men’s names to 
notes, as the breaking of an oath, as the breaking of a word, 
as swindling in trade, or in cards. Religion may forgive the 
sin of adultery as a momentary fall; but adultery which ex- 
cuses itself beforehand, excludes religion, excludes society, 
excludes honesty, excludes honor. Pan Stanislav, who, in 
his reasonings with himself, was always consistent and in 
general utterly unsparing, did not withdraw before this last 
induction. But he was frightened when he saw the preci- 
pice. If he did not withdraw, he would break his neck; 
but at the same time he began to fret at his own weakness. 
He knew himself well enough, with sorrow and with con- 
tempt also for his own weakness; he knew in advance that 
when he should see Pani Mashko, the human beast would 
get the upper hand of his soul. To withdraw? But he had 
repeated that to himself, and determined it after every 
temptation; and afterward, in presence of each succeeding 
one, passion had run away with his will at breakneck speed, 
just as a wild horse runs away with a rider. At the very 
remembrance of this he wanted to curse. If he had been 
unhappy at home, if his passion had grown up on the ground 
of great love, he would have had some excuse for it; but he 
did not love Pani Mashko,— he only desired her, He eould 
never give himself an account of this dualism in the nature 
of man, — he knew only that he desired and would desire 
after every meeting, after every thought of her. 

There remained one escape, not to see her, —an impos- 
sible escape, not only with reference to relations of acquaint- 
ance of every kind, but even with reference to this, that 
then Marynia would begin to suspect something. Pan Stan- 
islav did not even suppose that that had taken place already, 
and that she merely concealed from him her suffering; he 
gave account to himself, however, that if his treason should 
in any way come out, it would be a blow simply beyond 
the strength of that mild and trusting woman. And his re 


496 _ CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


proaches increased still more. Great pity and compassion 
for her seized him, as well as increased contempt for him- 
self. In spite of darkness, the blood rushed to his face 
when he remembered that the fatal words had fallen; that 
he had said, “I love,” to Pani Mashko; that he had de- 
ceived and betrayed Marynia, that honest, truthful woman ; 
and that he was capable of betraying her trust, and tram- 
pling on her heart. 

For a while it seemed to him a pure impossibility; but 
his conscience answered him, Thou art capable! Still, in 
that sorrow and pity for her he found a kind of consolation, 
when he saw that his feeling for her was and is something 
more than animal attraction, and that there were in him 
certain attachments, flowing out of the community of life 
and mutual possession; from the marriage vow; from com- 
radeship in good and evil fortune; from the great esteem 
and affection which in future was to be strengthened by a 
child. Never had he loved her more than in that moment 
of internal torture, and never had there risen in him greater 
tenderness. Day began to break; through the openings of 
the window the dawn was entering, and filled the chamber 
with a pale light, in which he could see indistinctly her 
dark head sunk in the pillow. His heart was filled with 
the feeling that that was his only and best treasure, — his 
greatly beloved comrade sleeping there, his best friend, his 
wife, and the future mother of his child. And no con- 
clusions, no reasonings about religion and social unvirtue, 
filled him with such disgust for that unvirtue and for him- 
self as the sight of that mild, sleeping face. The light 
through the openings entered more and more, and her head 
emerged more distinctly each moment from the shade. The 
half-circles of her eyelids were visible already on her cheeks ; 
and Pan Stanislav, looking at her, began to say to himself, 
“Thy honesty will help me!” All at once better feelings 
gained the victory in him: the beast abandoned his soul; 
and a certain consolation seized him, for he thought that if 
he were such a wretch as he had imagined, he would have 
followed the voice of passion with a lighter heart, and 
would not have passed through such suffering. 

He woke late in the morning, wearied and somewhat ill; 
he felt such dissatisfaction and exhaustion as he had never 
felt before. But by the light of day, and besides a rainy 
and gloomy day, the whole affair stood before him differ- 
entiy,— it seemed more sober, ordinary; the future did not 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 497 


appear to him so terrible, nor his fault so great. Every- 
thing grew smaller in his eyes; he began to think then 
principally of this, whether Pani Mashko had confessed 
all to her husband or not. At moments he had the feel- 
ing of a man who has crawled into a great and sore trouble 

needlessly. Gradually, however, this feeling was changed 
into an ever incre ising and more vivid alarm. “The posi- 
tion is stupid,” said he to himself. “Every reproach may 
be made against Mashko, but not this, that he is an incom- 
petent or a coward; and he will not put such an insult as 
that into his pocket. Hence there will be an explanation, 
a scandal, perhaps a duel. May the thunderbolts shatter 
it! What a fatal history, if the thing reaches Marynia! 
And he began to be angry with the whole world. ‘Till 
then he had had perfect peace; he had cared for no one, 
counted with no one. To-day, however, he is turning to 
every side; in his head is the question, ‘‘Has she told; has 
she not told?” and from the morning he could not think 
of aught else. It went that far that finally he put to 
himself this question: ‘‘What the deuce! am I afraid of 
Mashko? I?” It was not Mashko whom he feared, but 
Marynia, which was in like manner something both new 
and astonishing, for a couple of days earlier he would have 
admitted anything rather than this, —that he would ever 
fear Marynia. And as midday approached, the affair, 
which seemed to him diminished in the morning, began 
again to increase in his eyes. At moments he strength- 
ened himself with the hope that Pani Mashko would be 
silent; at moments he lost that hope. And then he felt 
that he would not dare to look into the eyes, not of 
Marynia, merely, but of any one; and he feared Bigiel, 
too, and Pani Bigiel, and Pani Emilia, Pan Ignas, —in a 
word, all his acquaintances. “See what it is to make a 
muddle!” thought he. ‘ How much one stupidity costs!” 
His alarm increased to the degree that at last, under 
pretext of returning the cane, he sent a servant boy 
to Pani Mashko with a bow, and an inquiry as to her 
health. 

The servant returned in half an hour. Pan Stanislav 
saw him through the window, and, going down hurriedly 
to meet him, learned that he had brought a note from 
Pani Mashko to Marynia. Taking the note, he gave it to 
Marynia; and his heart beat with ‘still greater alarm while 
watching her face as she read it. 


99 


ve 


498 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


But Marynia, when she had finished, raised her calm 
eyes to him, and said, — 

“Pani Mashko invites us to supper to-day—and the 
Bigiels also.” 

* A-a!” answered Pan Stanislav, drawing a full breath. 
And in his soul he added, “She has not told.” 

“We will go, shall we not?” asked Marynia. 

“Tf thou wish—that is, go with the bigiels, for after 
dinner I must go to the city. 1 must see Svirski; per- 
haps I shall bring him here.” 

“Then we may send an excuse? ” 

“No, no! go with the Bigiels. Maybe I shall call in or 
the way and explain to her; but even that is not necessary. 
Thou wilt explain for me.” And he went out, for he 
needed to be alone with his thoughts. 

‘*She has not told;” a feeling of relief and delight now 
possessed him. She had not told her husband; she was 
not offended; she had invited them. She has agreed, there- 
fore, to everything; she is ready to go farther, and to 
go everywhere, whithersoever he may wish to lead her. 
What is that invitation itself, if not a wish to put him at 
ease, if not an answer to his, “Till to-morrow” ? Now all 
depends on him alone; and shivers begin again to go from 
his feet to his head. There are no hindrances unless in 
himself. The fish has swallowed the hook. Temptations 
attacked him with new power, for uncertainty restrained 
them no longer. Yes, the fish had swallowed the hook; 
she had not resisted. Here a feeling of triumph seized 
him, and of satisfaction for his self-love; and at the same 
time, thinking of Pani Mashko, he began almost to beg 
pardon of her in his soul, because he had at moments been 
capable of doubting her, and thinking her an honest woman 
for even five minutes. Now, at least, he knew what to 
think of her, and he was thankful. After a while he 
laughed at his previous fears. In this way he rendered 
the first tribute due her, contempt. She had ceased to be 
for him something unattainable, something for which a 
battle between hope and fear is fought. In spite of him- 
self, he imagined her now as something of his, as his 
own, always attractive, but for this very reason less valu- 
able. The thought also caused him pleasure, that if he 
resisted temptation at present, it would be a pure merit. 
Now, when the doors stood open, he saw with wonder 
that the desire of resistance increased in him. Once more 


a oe 


———————_ lh Or 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 499 


all that he had said during the sleepless night about faith- 
breaking flew through his mind. Once more his heart 
reminded him of Marynia, her justness, her honesty, her 
approaching motherhood, and that great peace, that real 
happiness, which he could find only near her; and in the 
end of all these considerations he decided to go to the city 
and not be at Pani Mashko’s. 

After midday he gave command to bring the horses. 
When he was seated in Bigiel’s carriage he bent over, 
embraced Marynia at parting, “ Amuse thyself well,” and 
drove away. His morning exhaustion had passed; he 
recovered even his humor, for he felt satisfied with him- 
self. Confidence in his own power and character returned 
to him. Meanwhile, a certain exciting pleasure was caused 
in his mind by the thought of Pani Mashko’s astonish- 
ment when she should learn that he had gone, and had 
no intention to visit her. He felt a certain need of revenge 
on the woman for the physical impression which she had 
produced on him. Since the coming of that note, which 
she had written to Marynia, his contempt for her had 
increased with such force that soon he began to think that 
he would be in a position to come off victorious, even 
should he visit her. 

“And if I should go there, indeed, and give another 
meaning to yesterday’s words,” said he. But directly he 
thought, “I will not be a deceiver, at least, with reference 
to myself.” 

He was certain, however, that she would not be aston- 
ished at his coming. After what he had told her yester- 
day, she might suppose that he would find some excuse for 
visiting her before the arrival of Marynia and the Bigiels, 
or for remaining behind them. 

But should she see him driving past, she might think 
that he feared her, or consider him a boor, or jester. 

“There is no doubt,” monologued he, further, “that a 
man who does not consider himself a fool, or a dolt, in- 
capable of resisting any puppet, would go in and try to 
correct in some fashion yesterday’s stupidity.” 

But at the same moment fear seized him. That same 
voice which yesterday evening shouted in his soul that he 
was a wretch, began to shout again with redoubled energy. 

“J will not go in,” thought Pan Stanislav. ‘‘’lo under- 
stand and to be able to refrain are two different matters.” 

Pani Kraslavski’s villa was visible now in the distance. 


500 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Suddenly it flew into his head that Pani Mashko, through 
vexation and the feeling of being contemned, through 
offended self-love, through revenge, might tell Marynia 
something that would open her eyes. Maybe she would do 
that with one word, with one smile, giving even, it might 
be, to understand further, that certain insolent hopes of 
his had been shattered by her womanly honesty, and in 
that way explain his absence. Women rarely refuse them- 
selves such small revenges, and still more rarely are they 
merciful one toward another. 

“Tf I had the courage to go in—’ 

At that moment the carriage was even with the gate of 
the villa. 

“Stop!” said Pan Stanislav to the driver. 

He saw on the balcony Pani Mashko, who, however, 
withdrew at once. 

He walked through the yard; the servant received him 
at the door. 

“The lady is upstairs,” said he. 

Pan Stanislav felt that his legs were trembling under 
him, when he walked up the steps; meanwhile the follow- 
ing thoughts flew through his head, — 

“He may permit himself everything who takes life 
lightly, but I do not take it lightly. If, after all that I 
have considered and thought over and said, I could not 
master myself, I should be the last among men.” Now, 
standing at the door of the room pointed out by the ser- 
vant, he inquired, — 

“Ts it permitted? ” 

“T beg,” said the thin voice. 

And after a while he found himself in Pani Mashko’s 
boudoir. 

‘*T have come in,” said he, giving her his hand, “to ex- 
plain that I cannot be at supper. I must go to the city.” 

Pani Mashko stood before him with head a little inclined, 
with drooping eyes, confused, full of evident fear, having 
in her posture and expression of face something of the 
resigned victim, which sees that the decisive moment has 
come, and that the misfortune must happen. 

That state of mind came on Pan Stanislav, too, in one 
flash; hence, approaching her suddenly, he asked with 
stifled voice, — 

“Are you afraid? Of what are you afraid?” 


? 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 501 


CHAPTER LII. 


Next morning Pani Polanyetski received a letter from 
her husband, stating that he would not return that day, for 
he was going to look at a place situated on the other side 
of the city. On the following day, however, he returned, 
and brought Svirski, who had promised Bigiel and Pan 
Stanislav before that he would visit them at their summer 
residence. 

“Tmagine to thyself,” said Pan Stanislav, after greeting 
his wife, “that that Buchynek, which I have been looking 
at, lies next to old Zavilovski’s Yasmen; when I learned 
that, I visited the old man, who is not feeling well, and in 
Yasmen I found Pan Svirski, unexpectedly. He helped 
me to look at Buchynek, and the house pleased him much, 
There is a nice garden, a large pond, and some forest, 
Once it was a considerable property; but the land has been 
sold away, so that little remains now with the residence.” 

“A pretty, very pretty place,” said Svirski. “There is 
much shade, much air, and much quiet.” 

“Wilt thou buy it?” inquired Marynia. 

“Perhaps. Meanwhile I should like to rent it. We 
could live there the rest of the summer, and satisfy our- 
selves as to whether it would suit us. The owner is so 
certain that a stay there will be agreeable to us that he 
agrees to rent it. I should have given him earnest-money 
at once, but I wished to know what thy thought would be.” 

Marynia was a little sorry to lose the society of the 
Bigiels; but, noticing that her husband was looking into 
her eyes earnestly, and that he had an evident wish that 
they should live the rest of the summer by themselves, 
she said that she would agree most willingly. 

The Bigiels began to oppose, and offer a veto; but when 
Pan Stanislav represented to them that it was a question 
of trying a house in which he and Marynia would be likely 
to live every summer to the end of their lives, they had 
to confess that the reason was sufficient. 

“To-morrow I will engage the place, and carry out all 
the furniture necessary from Warsaw, and we can move in 


the day after.” 


502 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


‘*That is just as if you wished to flee from us as soon as 
possible,” said Pani Bigiel; ‘why such haste?” 

“There is no trouble with packing,” answered he, hur- 
riedly; “and you know that I do not like delay.” 

Finally it was left in this way: that the Polanyetskis 


were to go to Buchynek in four days. Now dinner was ° 


served, during which Svirski told how Pan Stanislav had 
found him at Zavilovski’s in Yasmen. 

“Panna Helena wished me to paint her father’s portrait,” 
said he, “and to paint it in Yasmen. I went because I 
was eager for work, and, besides, the old man has an inter- 
esting head. But nothing could come of that. They are 
in a residence with walls two yards thick; for that reason 
there is poor light in the rooms. I would not paint under 
such conditions; and then another hindrance appeared, — 
the model was attacked by the gout. The doctor, whom 
they took with them to the country, told me that the old 
man’s condition is not good, and may end badly.” 

‘‘T am sorry for Pan Zavilovski,” said Marynia, “for he 
seems a worthy man. And poor Panna Helena! In the 
event of his death she will be quite alone. And does he 
understand his own condition?” 

“He does, and he does not; it is his way. He is always 
an original. Ask your husband how he received him.” 

Pan Stanislav laughed, and said, — 

“On the way to Buchynek I learned that Yasmen was 
near, and [ resolved to go there. Panna Helena took me 
to her father; but he was just finishing his rosary, and did 
not greet me till he had said the last ‘ Hail Mary.’ Then 
he begged my pardon, and said thus: ‘ Those heavenly 
matadors in their own order; but with Her a man has more 
courage, and in old fashion, when She is merciful, all is 
well, for nothing is refused Her.’ ” 

“What a type he is!” exclaimed Svirski. 

The Bigiels laughed, but Marynia said that there was 
something affecting in such confidence. With this Svirski 
agreed, and Pan Stanislav continued, — 

“Then he said that it was time for him to think of 
his will, and I did not oppose him, in usual fashion, for 
with me it is a question of our Pan Ignas. On the con- 
trary, I told him that that was a purely legal matter, for 
which it was never too early, and that even young people 
ought to think of it.” 

“That is my opinion, too,” put in Bigiel. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 503 


“We spoke also of Pan Ignas; the old man has come to 
love him heartily.” 

“Yes!” exclaimed Svirski. “When he learned that I 
had been in Prytulov, he began at once to inquire about 
him.” 

"then have you been in Prytulov?” inquired Marynia, 

Four days. I like Osnovski immensely.” 

“And Pani Osnovski?” 

“T gave my opinion in Rome of her, and, as I remem- 
ber, let my tongue out like a scourge.” 

“T remember too. You were very wicked. How is it 
with the young couple?” 

“Oh, nothing! They are happy. But Panna Ratkovski 
is there, —a very charming young lady. I lacked little of 
falling in love with her.” 

*“There it is for you! But Stas told me that you are in 
love with all ladies.” 

‘*With all, and therefore always in love.” 

Bigiel, hearing this, stopped and said earnestly, — 

“That is a good way never to marry.” 

‘*Unfortunately it is,” said Svirski. Then, turning to 
Marynia, he said, “Pan Stanislav must have told you of 
our agreement, —that when you say to me ‘ marry,’ I shall 
marry. That was the agreement with your husband; there- 
fore I should wish you to see Panna Ratkovski. Her name 
is Stefania, which means the crowned. A pretty name, 
is it not? She is a calm kind of person, not bold, fear- 
ing Pani Aneta and Panna Castelli, but clearly honest. I 
had a proof of this. Whenever a young lady is in ques- 
tion, I observe everything and note it down in my memory. 
Once a beggar came to me in Prytulov with a face like 
that of some Egyptian hermit from Thebes. Pani Aneta 
and Panna Castelli rushed out at him with their cameras 
and photographed him, profile and full face, as much as 
was possible. But the old man wanted food, I think. 
He had come hoping for alms, but evidently he hated to 
ask. Peasants have that kind of feeling. Well, none of 
those ladies observed this, or at least did not note it; they 
treated him as a thing, till Panna Ratkovski told them 
that they were humiliating and hurting the old man. 
That is a small incident, but it shows heart and delicate 
feelings. That handsome Kopovski dangles about her; but 
she is not charmed with the man, like those ladies, who are 
occupied with him, who paint him, invent new costumes for 


» 


504 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


him, hand him around, and almost carry him in their arms, 
like a doll. No; she told me herself that Kopovski annoys 
her; and that pleases me, too, for he has as much sense as 
the head of a walking-stick.” 

“As far as I have heard,” said Bigiel, ‘‘Pan Kopovski 
needs money; and Panna Ratkovski is not rich. I know 
that her father, when dying, was in debt to a bank fora 
sum which, with interest, was due on the last day of last 
month.” 

“ What is that to us?” interrupted Pani Bigiel. 

“Thou art right, — that is not our affair.” 

“But how does Panna Ratkovski look?” inquired 
Marynia. 

“Panna Ratkovski? She is not beautiful, but she has 
a sweet face, pale complexion, and dark eyes. You will 
see her, for those ladies expressed a wish to come here 
some day. And I persuaded them to it, for I want you 
to see her.” 

‘*Well,” answered Marynia, laughing, “I shall see her, 
and declare my sentence. But if it be favorable?” 

“T will propose; I give my word. In the worst case, 
I’ll get a refusal. If you say ‘no,’ I’l] go after ducks. 
At the end of July shooting is permitted.” 

“Oh, those plans are important!” said Pani Bigiel, — “a 
wife or ducks! Pan Ignas would not have spoken that 
way.” 

“Well, of what use is reason when one is in love?” said 
Marynia. 

“You are right, and I envy him that very condition; not 
Panna Castelli, though I was in love with her once myself 
—oh, no! but just that condition in which one does not 
reason any longer.” 

“But what have you against Panna Castelli?” 

“Nothing. I-owe her gratitude, for —thanks to her — 
I had my time of illusions; therefore I shall never say an 
evil word of her, though some one is pulling me by the 
tongue greatly. So, ladies, do not pull me.” 

“On the contrary,” said Pani Bigiel, “you must tell us 
of both. I will ask you only on the veranda, for I have 
directed to bring coffee there.” 

After a time they were on the veranda. The little 
Bigiels were running about in a many-colored crowd among 
the trees, circling about like bright butterflies. Bigiel 
placed cigars before Svirski. Marynia, taking advantage 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 505 


of the moment, went up to her husband, who was standing 
aside somewhat, and, raising her kindly eyes to him, asked: 

“Why so silent, Stas?” N 

“J am tired. In the city there was heat, and in our 
house one might smother. I could n’t sleep, for Buchynek 
got into my head.” 

-“T, too, am curious about that Buchynek, dost thou 
know? In truth, I am curious. Thou hast done well to 
see the place and hire it; very well.” And she looked at 
him with affection; but, seeing that he seemed really not 
himself, she said, — 

“We will occupy Pan Svirski here, and do thou go.and 
rest a while.” 

“No; I cannot sleep.” 

Meanwhile Svirski talked on. “There is no breeze,” 
said he; “not atwig in motion. A genuine summer day! 
Have you noticed that in the season of heat, and in time 
of such calm, the whole world seems as if sunk in medita- 
tion. I remember that Bukatski found always in this 
something mystical, and said that he would like to die on 
such a sunny day, —to sit thus in an armchair, then fall 
asleep, and dissipate into light.” 

“Still, he did not die in summer,” remarked Bigiel. 

“No, but in spring, and in good weather. Besides, 
taking things in general, he did not suffer, and that is 
beyond all.” 

Here he was silent a while, and then added, — 

“As to death, we may and should be reconciled to it, 
and death has never made me indignant; but why pain 
exists, that, as God lives, passes human understanding.” 

No one took up the consideration, so Svirski, shaking 
the ashes from his cigar, said, — 

“But never mind that. After dinner, and with black 
coffee, it is possible to find a more agreeable subject.” 

“Tell us of Pan Ignas,” said Pani Bigiel. 

“He pleases me. In all that he does and says the lion’s 
claw is evident, and, in general, his nature is uncommon, 
immensely vital. During those two days in Prytulov we 
became acquainted a little more nearly, and grew friendly. 
You have no idea how Osnovski has grown to like the man; 
and I told Osnovski openly that I feared that Pan Ignas 
might not be happy with those ladies.” 

“But why?” asked Marynia. 

“That is difficult to say, since one has no facts; but it 


506 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


is felt. Why? Because his nature is utterly different 
from theirs. You see, that all the loftier aspirations, 
which for Pan Ignas are the soul of his hfe, are for those 
ladies merely au ornament, — something like lace on a 
dress worn for guests, while on common days the person 
who owns it goes about in a dressing-gown; and that is a 
great difference. I fear lest they, instead of soaring with 
his flight, try to make him jog along by their side, at their 
own little goose-trot, and convert that which is in him into 
small change for their every-day social out-go. And there 
is something in him! I do not presuppose that catas- 
trophes of any kind are to come, for I have not the right 
to refuse them ordinary petty honesty, but there may be 
non-happiness. I say only this much: you all know Pan 
Ignas, and you know that he is wonderfully simple; but 
still, according to me, his love for Castelka is too difficult 
and exclusive. He puts into it all his soul; and she is 
ready to give a little bit—so! The rest she would like to 
keep for social relations, for comforts, for toilets, for 
visits, for luxuries, for five o’clocks, for lawn-tennis with 
Kopovski, —in a word, for that mill in which hfe is 
ground into bran.” 

“This may not fit Panna Castelli, and if it does not, so 
much the better for Pan Ignas,” said Bigiel; ‘‘ but in general 
it is pointed.” 

“No,” said Pani Bigiel, “that first of all is wicked; in 
truth, you hate women.” 

“JT hate women!” exclaimed Svirski, raising his hands 
toward heaven. 

“Do you not see that you are making Panna Castelli a 
eommon little goose ?” 

“T gave her lessons in painting, but I have never been 
occupied in her education.” 

Marynia, hearing all this, said, threatening Svirski, — 

“Tt is wonderful that such a kind man should have such 
a wicked tongue.” 

“There is a certain justice in that,” answered Svirski; 
“and more than once have I asked, am I really a kind 
man? ButI think that lam. For there are people who 
ealumniate their neighbors through a love for digging in 
the mud, and that is vile; there are others who do this 
through jealousy, and that is equally vile. Such a man as 
Bukatski talks even for a conceit; but I, first of all, am 
talkative; second, a human being, and especially a woman, 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 507 


interests me more than aught else in existence ; and, finally, 
the shabbiness and flatness and petty vanities of human 
nature pain me terribly. And, as God lives, it is because 
1 could wish that all women had wings; but since I see 
that many of them have only tails, I begin, from amaze- 
ment alone, to shout in a heaven-piercing voice —” 

“But why do you not shout in the same way against 
men?” inquired Pani Bigiel. 

“Oh, let the men go! What do I care for them? 
Though, to speak seriously, we deserve perhaps to be 
shouted at more than the ladies.” 

Here Pani Bigiel and Marynia attacked the unfortunate 
artist; but he defended himself, and continued, — 

“Well, ladies, take such a man as Pan Ignas, and such a 
woman as Panna Castelli: he has worked hard since his 
childhood; he has struggled with difficulties, thought hard, 
given something to the world already, — but what is she ? 
A real canary in a cage. They give the bird water, sugar, 
and seed; it has only to clean its yellow plumage with its 
little bill, and twitter. Or is this not true? We work im- 
mensely, ladies. Civilization, science, art, bread, and all 
on which the world stands is absolutely our work. And 
that is a marvellous work. Oh, it is easy to talk of it, but 
difficult to do it. Is it right, or is it natural, that men push 
you aside from this work? I do not know, and at this 
moment it is not for me a question; but taking the world 
in general, only one thing has remained to you, — loving ; 
therefore you should know, at least, how to love.” 

Here his dark face took on an expression of great mild- 
ness, and also, as it were, melancholy. 

“Take me, for example; I am working apparently for 
this art of ours. Twenty-five years have I been daubing and 
daubing with a brush on paper or on canvas; and God alone 
knows how I slaved, how I toiled before I worked anything 
out of myself. Now I feel as much alone in the world as a 
finger. But what do I want? This, that the Lord God, 
for all this toil, might vouchsafe me some honest little 
woman, who would love me a little and be grateful for my 
affection.” 

“ And why do you not marry ?” 

“Why?” answered Svirski, with a certain outburst. 
“ Because I am afraid; because of you, one in ten knows how 
to love, though you have nothing else to do.” 

Further discourse was interrupted by the coming of Pan 


508 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Plavitski and Pani Mashko; she, in a dark blue foulard 
dress with white spots, looked from afar like a butterfly. 
Pan Plavitski looked like a butterfly also; and, approaching 
the veranda, he began to ery out, — 

“T seized Pani Mashko, and brought her. Good-evening 
to the company; good-evening, Marynia! I was coming 
here to you on a droshky till I saw this lady standing out 
on the balcony; then I seized her, and we came on foot. 
I dismissed the droshky, thinking that you would send me 
home.” 

Those present began to greet Pani Mashko; and she, ruddy 
from the walk, fell to explaining joyously, while removing 
her hat from her ash-colored hair, that really Pan Plavit- 
ski had brought her away almost by force; for, awaiting 
the return of her husband, she did not like to leave home. 
Pan Plavitski pacified her by saying that her husband, not 
finding her at home, would guess where she was, and for 
the flight and the lonely walk he would not be angry, for 
that was not the city, where people raise scandal for any 
cause (here he smoothed his white shirt-front with the mien 
of a man who would not be at all astonished if scandal were 
roused touching him) ; ‘‘ but the country has its own rights, 
and permits us to disregard etiquette.” 

When he had said this, he looked slyly at Pani Mashko, 
rubbed his hands, and added, — 

‘Ha, ha! the country has its rights; I said well, has its 
rights, and so there is no place for me like the country.” 

Pani Mashko laughed, feeling that the Jangh was becom- 
ing, and that some one might admire her. But Bigiel, who, 
being himself a strict reasoner, demanded logic from all, 
turned to Plavitski, and said, — 

“Tf there is no place like the country, why do you not 
move out of the city in summer?” 

“How do you say?” asked Plavitski. “Why do I not 
move out ? Because in the city, on one side of the street 
there is sun, and on the other shade. If I wish to warm 
myself, I walk in the sun; if it is hot for me, I walk in the 
shade. There is no place in summer like the city. I wanted 
to go to Karlsbad, but —” 

Here he was silent for a moment; and, remembering only 
then that what he was giving to understand might expose 
a young woman to the evil tongues of people, he looked 
with a gloomy resignation on those present, and added, — 

“Ts it worth while to think of that pair of years left of 
my life, that are of no value to me, or to any one ?” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 509 


“‘Here it is!” cried Marynia. “If papa will not go to 
Karlsbad, he will drink Millbrun with us in Buchynek.” 

“In what Buchynek ? ” asked Plavitski. 

“True, we must announce la grande nouvelle.” 

And she began to tell that Buchynek had been found 
and rented and probably would be bought; and that in three 
days she and her husband would move into that Buchynek 
for the whole summer. : 

Pani Mashko, hearing the narrative, raised her eyes to 
Pan Stanislav in wonder, and inquired, — 

‘«Then are you really going to leave us ?” 

“Yes,” answered he, with a trace of snappishness. 

“ A-a!” 

And for a while she looked at him with the glance of a 
person who understands nothing and asks, “ What does 
all this mean?” but, receiving no answer, she turned to 
Marynia and began an indifferent conversation. She was 
so instructed in the forms of society that only Pan Stanis- 
lav himself could perceive that the news about Buchynek 
had dulled her. But she had divined that her person 
might come into question, and that those sudden movings 
might be in connection with her. With every moment 
that truth stood before her with increasing clearness, and 
her cold face took on a still colder expression. Gradu- 
ally a feeling of humiliation possessed her. It seemed 
to her that Pan Stanislav had done something directly 
opposed to what she had a right to expect of him; that 
he had committed a grave offence not only against her, 
but against all those observances which a man of a cer- 
tain sphere owes to a woman. And her whole soul was 
occupied in this because it pained her more than his re- 
moval to Buchynek. In certain cases women demand more 
regard the less it belongs to them, and the more respect 
the less they are worthy of it, because they need it for 
their own self-deception, and often too because the infatua- 
tion, or delicacy, or comedian character in men gives 
women all they demand, at least for a season. Still, in 
this intention of moving in a few days to the opposite 
side of the city, was involved, as it were, a confession of 
breaking off relations which was worthy of a boor. Faith- 
breaking has its own style of @ posteriori declaration, and 
has it always, for there is not on earth an example of a 
permanent relation resting on faithlessness. But this time 
the rudeness surpassed every measure, and the sowing had 


510 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


given an untimely, peculiar harvest. Pani Mashko’s mind, 
though not very ‘keen by nature, needed no extra effort to 
conclude that what had met her was contempt simply. 

And at this very moment Pan Stanislav thought, “She 
must have a fabulous contempt for me.” 

It did not occur to them at the time that in the best 
event this contempt was a question of time merely. But 
Pani Mashko caught after one more hope, that this might 
be some misunderstanding, some momentary anger, some 
excitability of a fantastic man, some offence which she 
could not explain to herself, — in a word, something which 
might be less decisive than seemed apparent. One word 
thrown out in answer might explain everything yet. 
Judging that Pan Stanislav might feel the need of such a 
conversation, she determined to get it for him. Hence 
after tea she began to prepare for home, and, looking at Pan 
Stanislav, said, — 

“ Now 1 must request one of the gentlemen to conduct 
me.” 

Pan Stanislav rose. His tired, and at the same time 
angry face, seemed to say to her, “If ’tis thy wish to have 
the pure truth, thou wilt have it;” but unexpectedly Bigiel 
changed the arrangement by saying, — 

“The evening is so pleasant that we can all conduct 

ou.” 

And they did. Plavitski, considering himself the lady’s 
knight for that day, gave her his arm with great gallantry, 
and during the whole way entertained her with conversa- 
tion ; so that Pan Stanislav, who was conducting Pani Bigiel, 
had no chance to say one word except “ good-night ” at the 
ate. 

: That “ good-night ’ was accompanied by a pressure of 
the hand which was a new inquiry — without an answer. 
Pan Stanislav, for that matter, was glad that he had not to 
give explanations. He could have given only unclear and 
disagreeable ones. Pani Mashko roused in him then as 
much mental distaste as physical attraction, and for both 
those reasons he considered that if he remained in Bigiel’s 
house, she would be too near him. Moreover, he had 
sought Buchynek and found it chiefly because active 
uatures, if confined too much, are forced instinctively to 
undertake and act even when that which they do is not in 
immediate connection with that which gives them pain. 
He had not the least feeling, however, that flight from 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 511 


danger was equivalent to a return to the road of honesty, 
or even led to it; it seemed to him then that it was too 
late for that, that honesty was a thing lost once and for- 
ever. “To flee,” said he to himself; “there was a time to 
flee. At present flight is merely the egotism of a beast 
disturbed in one lair and seeking another.” Having be- 
trayed Marynia to begin with, he will betray Pani Mashko 
now out of fear that the relation with her may become too 
painful ; and he will betray her in a manner as wretched as 
it is rude, by trampling on her. That is only a new 
meanness, which he permits himself like a desperado, in 
the conviction that, no matter how he may struggle, he 
will sink into the gulf ever deeper. 

At the bottom of these thoughts was hidden, moreover, 
an immense amazement. If this had happened to some 
other man, who took life lightly, such a man might wave 
his hand and consider that one more amusing adventure 
had met him. Pan Stanislav understood that many would 
look on the affair in that way precisely. But he had 
worked out in himself principles, he had had them, and 
he fell from the whole height of them; hence his fall was 
the greater, hence he thought to himself, “ That which [ 
won, that to which I attained, is no protection whatever 
from anything. Though a man have what I had, he may 
break his neck as quickly as if he had nothing.” And the 
position seemed to him simply beyond understanding. 
Why is this? What is the reason of it? To this question 
he had no answer; and, having doubted his own honesty 
and honor, he began now to doubt his own intellect, for 
he felt that he could grasp nothing, give no answer. 

In general, he felt like a man lost in some mental wilder- 
ness; he could recover nothing, not even attachment to his 
wife. It seemed to him that, having lost in himself all 
human sides, he had lost at the same time the power and 
right to love her. With no less astonishment did he see 
that in the bottom of his heart he cherished a feeling of 
offence against her for his own fall. Up to that time he had 
not injured any one; hence he could not have known that 
usually a man has a feeling of offence and even hatred 
against a person whom he has wronged. 

Meanwhile the society, after taking farewell of Pam 
Mashko, returned home. Marynia walked at her husband’s 
side ; but, supposing that he was occupied in calculations 
touching the purchase of the place, and remembering that 


512 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


he did not like to be interrupted in such cases, she did 
not break the silence. The evening was so warm that 
after returning they remained some time on the veranda. 
Bigiel tried to detain Svirski for the night, saying in jest 
that such a Hercules could not find room in his little 
brichka with Plavitski. Pan Stanislav, to whom the 
presence of any guest was convenient, supported Bigiel. 

“ Remain,” said he. “Iam going to the city to-morrow 
inorning; we can go then together.” 

“But I am in a hurry to. paint. ‘To-morrow I wish to 
begin work early, and if I stay here there will be delay.” 

“Have you any work to be finished on time?” asked 
Marynia. 

“No; but one’s hand goes out of practice. Painting is a 
kind of work in which one is never permitted to rest. I have 
loitered much already, at one time in Prytulov, at another 
here; meanwhile my colors are drying.” 

Both ladies began to laugh; for that was said by a famous 
master, who ought to be free from fear that he would forget 
how to paint. 

“It seems to people that when a man has reached a 
certain skill, he owns it,” answered Svirski. “It is a won- 
derful thing, this human organism, which must either ad- 
vance or fall back. I know not if this is so in everything, 
but in art it is not permitted to say to one’s self, ‘This is 
enough;’ there is no leave to stop. If I cease to paint 
for a week, not only do I lose adroitness of hand, but I do 
not feel in power. The hand dulls,—that I can under- 
stand, — but the artistic sense dulls also; talent simply dulls. 
I used to think that this was the case only in my career, 
for in it technique has enormous significance ; but, will you 
believe me, Snyatinski, who writes for the theatre, told me 
the same. And in literature like his, in what does technique 
consist, if not in this ? Not to have any technique, or at least, 
to seem not to have it. Still, even Snyatinski says that he 
may not stop, and that he falls back or advances in propor- 
tion to his efforts. The services of art,—that sounds 
beautifully. Ah, what a dog service, in which there is 
never rest, never peace !— nothing but toil and terror. Is 
that the predestination of the whole race, or are we alone 
those tortured figures ?” 

Svirski, it is true, did not look like a tortured figure in 
any sense; he did not fall into a pathetic tone either, com- 
plaining of his occupation. But in his sweeping words there 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 513 


was a sincerity which gave them power. After a while he 
raised his fist; and, shaking it at the moon, which was 
showing itself just then above the forest, he cried out, half 
in joy, half in anger, — 

“See that chubby face there! Once it learned to go around 
the earth, it was sure of its art. Oh, to have one moment 
like that in one’s life!” 

Marynia began to laugh, and, raising her eyes unwittingly 
in the direction of Svirski’s hand, said, — , 

“Do not complain. It is not merely artists who are not 
free to stop; whether we work on a picture, or on ourselves, 
it is all one, we must work every hour, otherwise life is 
injured.” 

“There is immense need of work,” interrupted Plavitski, 
with a sigh. 

But Marynia continued, seeking a comparison with some 
effort, and raising her brows at the same time, — 

“And you see, if any man were to say to himself, even 
for a moment, ‘I am wise enough, and good enough,’ that 
very saying would be neither good nor wise. Now it seems 
to me that we are all swimming across some deep place to a 
better shore; but whoso just wishes to rest and stops 
moving his hands, is drawn to the bottom by his own 
weight.” 

“Phrases!” exclaimed Pan Stanislav, on a sudden. 

But she, pleased with the aptness of her comparison, 
answered, — 

“No, Stas, as I love thee, they are not phrases.” 

“Tf God would grant me to hear such things always,” 
said Svirski, with animation. ‘The lady is_ perfectly 
right.” 

Pan Stanislav, in reality, was also convinced that she was 
right; and, what was more, in that darkness, which sur- 
rounded him, something began to gleam lke a lamp. He 
was just the man who had said to himself, “I am wise 
enough, I am good enough, —and I can rest;” he was just 
the man who had forgotten that there was need of con- 
tinual effort; he had ceased to move his hands over the 
depth, and therefore his own weight took him down to the 
bottom. Such was the case! All these lofty religious and 
moral principles, which he had gained, he had enclosed in 
his soul, as a man encloses money in a chest, — and he made 
dead capital of them. He had them, but, as it were, hidden 
away. He fell into the blindness of the miser, who cheers 

3 


514 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


himself with hoarded gold, but lives hike a mendicant. He 
had them, but he did not live on them; and, trusting in his 
wealth, he imagined that his life accounts were closed, and 
that he might rest. But nowa gray dawn, as it were, began 
in that night which surrounded his thoughts ; and out of the 
darkness began to rise toward him a truth hazy, and as yet 
undefined, declaring that accounts of that sort could never 
be closed, and that “life is an immense daily, ceaseless labor, 
which, as Marynia had said, ends only there, somewhere on 
the other and better shore. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 515 


CHAPTER LIII. 


“My dear Pan Ignas, why do you not dress like Pan 
Kopovski?” asked Pani Bronich. “Naturally, Nitechka 
values your poetry more than all costumes on earth ; but you 
will not believe how esthetic that child is, and what per- 
fect knowledge she has in such matters. Yesterday, the 
poor dear came to me with such a pretty face that if you 
had seen her you would have melted. ‘Aunt,’ said she. 
‘why does Pan Ignas not have white flannel costumes in the 
morning ? It is so elegant for all gentlemen to be in sueh 
costumes.’ Have something like that made; she will be so 
glad. You see that Yozio Osnovski too has a flannel suit: 
he has even a number of them, through attention to 
Aneta. These are little things, I know; but they affect a 
woman greatly when she considers what they mean. You 
have no idea how she sees everything. In Scheveningen 
all wear such costumes till midday; and it would be dis- 
agreeable to her if any one should think that you did not 
belong to society which knows how to dress. You are so 
kind, you will buy such a costume; will you not? You will 
do that for her; and you will not take it ill of me that I 
speak of what Nitechka likes ?” 

“Oh,” said Pan Ignas, “1711 do so, most willingly.” 

“ How good you are! But, what else did I wish to say ? 
Oh, yes! —and a nice yellow-leather travelling-case. My 
dear Pan Ignas, Nitechka loves immensely nice travelling- 
cases ; and abroad, as a man looks, so is he valued. Yester- 
day —I will tell you this as a secret — we looked at Pan 
Kopovski’s travelling-case. It is very nice, and in perfect 
taste, bought in Dresden. It pleased Nitechka much. Look 
at it, and buy one something in that style. I beg pardon of 
you for entering into this matter, but this is a trifle. You 
see, | know women in general, and I know Nitechka. There 
is no better way with her than to yield in little things. 
When it comes to great ones, she will give up everything. 
Besides, you have heard what chances of marriage she had, 
and still she chose you. Show her, then, gratitude even in 
small things. Have you not, as a student of character, 
noticed that natures capable of great sacrifice reserve them- 


516 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


selves for exceptional occasions; but in every-day life they 
like to be gratified.” 

“Perhaps I have not thought of this so far.” 

“Oh, it is true beyond doubt, and that is just Nitechka’s 
nature. But you are not in a position to know what kind 
of a nature she has, though you should know, for the reason 
that she chose you. But you men are not able to perceive 
so many shades of feeling. If it should come to some crisis, 
you would see that in her there is not one trace of selfish- 
ness. May the Lord God preserve her from every trial! but 
should it come to anything, you would see.” 

“T know that you esteem Panna Nitechka,” said Pan 
Ignas, with certain animation; “but still you do not think 
so much good of her as I do.” 

“Ah, how I love you when you say things like 
that!” cried Pani Bronich, with delight. ‘ My dear! But, 
if it is thus, then I will whisper still more in your ear: she 
loves passionately that gentlemen should wear black silk 
stockings; but remember that one look is enough for her 
to see what is silk and what is Scotch thread. My God! do 
not suppose that I wish to mix in everything. No one is 
able to keep away so well as I; but it is only a question 
of this, —that Nitechka should never think that you are 
not equal to others in any regard whatever. What’s to be 
done? You are marrying a real artist, who loves that every- 
thing around her should be beautiful. And, in truth, she 
will not be so poor as not to have a right to this. Will 
she?” 

Pan Ignas took out his notebook, and said, — 

“T will write down your orders, so as not to forget 
them.” 

There was a shade of irony in what he said. Pani 
Bronich, with her excess of words, her manner of talking, 
and especially her evident infatuation for things of excep- 
tional superfluity, had made him impatient very often. 
Pan Ignas was offended by a certain parvenu element in 
her nature. Since he did not see what palaces she was 
building with the property of old Zavilovski, he was 
unable to understand that a sensitive woman could be so 
unceremonious with him in demands for “ Nitechka ” when 
it was a question of the style of their future life. He had 
supposed previously that it would be just the opposite, 
and that those ladies would be even over-scrupulous and 
delicate; this was his first disillusion. On the other 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL, 17 
hand, he was pained by the bad taste with which Pani 
Bronich mentioned almost daily the great matches which 
“Nitechka” might have made, and also her self-denials for 
his sake; these self-denials had not taken place yet. Pan 
Ignas did not over-estimate himself, but also he did not 
carry his head lower than was needful; and with that 
which was in him he considered himself not a worse, but 
a better match than such men as Kopovski, and the 
various Colimacaos, Kanafaropuloses, and similar operatic 
lay figures. He was indignant at the very thought that 
they dared to compare these men with him, especially to 
his disadvantage. Having poetry and love in his soul, he 
judged that he had that which even princes of this world 
cannot command always. What his every-day life with 
Lineta would be, of that he had not thought much hitherto, 
or had thought in a general way only; but feeling strong, 
and being ready to seize every fate by the forelock, he 
trusted that it would be agreeable. ‘To chaffer with this 
future he had no intention; and when Pani Bronich ex- 
pressed wishes like these, he had to restrain himself from 
telling her that they seemed to him vulgar. 

Svirski, when stopping at Prytulov, gave out once the 
striking opinion that love was not blind altogether, but 
only suffering from daltonism. Pan Ignas thought that 
the painter had Osnovski in mind, and did not suspect 
that he himself was a perfect example of a man subject 
to the infirmity mentioned. He was blind, however, only 
in reference to Lineta; except her he saw and observed 
everything with greater readiness than others. And cer- 
tain observations filled him with astonishment. Omitting 
his observations on Pani Aneta, her Yozio, and Kopovski, 
he noticed, for example, that his own relations with Pani 
Bronich began to change; and from the time that he had 
become near to her, and she had grown accustomed to him, 
and confidential, as with a future relative, and the future 
husband of “ Nitechka,” she began to have less esteem for 
his person, his work, and his talent. To an ordinary eye 
this was invisible, perhaps, but to Pan Ignas it was clear, 
though be could not explain its origin. The future alone 
was to teach him that common natures, by contact with per- 
sons or things which are higher, lose esteem for them through 
this familiarity, as if showing involuntarily that what- 
ever becomes near to them must thereby be infected with 
vulgarity and meanness, and cannot, for that very reason, 


tr 


518 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


continue lofty. Meanwhile Pani Bronich disenchanted 
him more and more. He was impatient at that convenient 
“Peodor,” whose réle it was to shield with his dignity 
from beyond the tomb every act of hers; he was amazed 
at that bird-like mobility of her mind which seized on 
the wing everything from the region of the good and the 
beautiful, and turned it at once into empty and meaning- 
less phrases. 

Besides, her enormous ill-will for people astonished him. 
Pani Bronich, almost servile in presence of old Zavilovski, 
spoke of him with animosity in private; Panna Helena she 
simply disliked; of Pani Kraslavski and Pani Mashko she 
spoke with endless irony; of the Bigiels, with contempt; 
more specially salt in her eye was Marynia. She listened 
to the praises rendered Marynia by Svirski, Pan Ignas, 
and Osnovski with the same impatience as if they had 
been detractions from Lineta. Pan Ignas convinced him- 
self that, in truth, Pani Bronich cared for no one on earth 
except “ Nitechka.” But just this love made up in his mind 
for all her disagreeable peculiarities; he did not under- 
stand yet that such a feeling, when associated with hate 
and exclusiveness, instead of widening the heart, makes 
it narrow and dry, and is merely a two-headed selfishness, 
and that such selfishness may be as rude and harsh as 
if one-headed. Loving Lineta himself with his whole 
soul, and feeling better and kinder from the time that he 
had begun thus to love her, he considered that a person 
who loved really could not be evil at heart; and in the 
name of their common love, “ Nitechka,” he forgave Pani 
Bronich all her shortcomings. 

But with reference to Lineta, that quick observer could 
not see anything. The strongest men make in love so 
many unhappy mistakes for one reason, — that they array 
the beloved in all their own sunbeams, not accounting to 
themselves afterward that this glory with which they are 
blinded has been put by themselves there. So it was with 
Pan Ignas. lLineta became accustomed more and more 
every day to him, and to her own réle of betrothed. The 
thought that he had distinguished her, raised her above 
others, chosen her, loved her, from having been, as once, 
a continual living source of satisfaction to her vanity 
and pride, was beginning to lose the charm of novelty, 
and grow common. Everything which it was possible to 
win from it for her own personal glory had been won by 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 519 


the aid of Aunt Bronich. The admiration of people had 
been also “juggled out” of it, as Svirski said; and the 
statue was so near her eyes now that, instead of taking 
in the whole, she began to discover defects in the marble. 
At moments yet, under the influence of the Opinion or 
admiration of others, she regained the recollection and 
knowledge of its proportions; but she was seized by a 
kind of astonishment that that man in love with her, look- 
ing into her eyes, and obedient to every beck of hers, was 
that Zavilovski over whom even Svirski loses his head, 
and whom such a man as Osnovski esteems as some 
precious public treasure. She could send him at any 
moment for fresh strawberries, if she wished, or for yarn; 
the knowledge of this caused her a certain pleasure, hence 
he was needed. She admired her own power in him, and 
sometimes she detailed to him impressions of this kind 
quite sincerely. 

Once, when they went out to damp fields, Pan Ignas 
returned for her overshoes. Kneeling by an alder-tree, he 
put them on her feet, which he kissed. Then she, looking 
at that head bent to her feet, said, — 

“People think you a great man, but you put on my 
overshoes.” 

Pan Ignas raised his eyes to her, and, amused by the 
comparison, answered joyously, without rising from his 
knees , — 

“Because I love immensely.” 

“That is all right; but I am curious to know what people 
would say of it?” 

And the last question seemed to occupy her most of all, 
but Pan Ignas quarrelled that moment with her because 
she said “you” to him, but he did not notice, however, 
that, in her “that is all right,” there was that peculiar 
indifference with which things too familiar or less im- 
portant are slipped over. With a similar half-attention 
she heard what he said then,—that not being vain, he 
considers himself a man like his fellows, but that he 
respects his career, and counts a life the greatest happiness 
in which it is possible to serve loftily, and love simply. 
In the feeling of this happiness he embraced her with his 
arm, so as to have his simple love as near his breast as pos- 
sible. But when his prominent chin pushed forward still 
more, as happened whenever he spoke with enthusiasm, 
Lineta begged him to leave off the habit, as it made him 


520 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


look stern, and she liked joyous faces around her. While 
her hand was in now, she reminded him also that yester- 
day, when they were sailing over the pond, and he was 
tired after rowing, he breathed very loudly. She did not 
like to tell him then how that “acted on her nerves.” 
Any little thing “acts on her nerves;” but nothing acts 
like some one who is tired, and breathes loudly near 
her. 

Saying this, she took off her hat and began to fan her 
face. The breeze raised her bright hair; and in the green 
shade of the alder-trees, quivering in the sun, which shone 
in through the leaves, she looked like a vision. Pan Ignas 
delighted his eyes with her, and in her words admired, 
above all, the charm of a spoiled child. There was per- 
haps something more in them; but he neither sought nor 
found it, just because his love, with all its force, was 
simple. 

Sunplicity, however, does not exclude loftiness. Lineta 
had, in fact, clung like a spider-web to the wings of the 
bird, which, in spite of her, bore her to heights where one 
had to feel every movement with the heart, to divine all, to 
understand all, and where even the mind must exert itself 
to give expression to feeling. But Lineta was “so lazy,” — 
she had said so on a time to her soarer, who at present did 
not even suspect that those heights merely made her tired 
and dizzy, nothing more. 

It happened to her now oftener and oftener to wake in 
the morning, and remember that she must meet her be- 
trothed, that she must tune herself up to his high note; 
and this gave her the feeling that a child has, for whom a 
hard lesson is waiting. She had recited that lesson al- 
ready; she had answered more or less everything which 
had been taught her; and she judged that her betrothed 
ought to give a vacation now. Finally, she had enough 
of all those uncommonnesses, both of herself and of others, 
those original sayings, those apt answers, with which she 
had campaigned in society so far. She felt, moreover, that 
the supply was exhausted, that the bottom of the well 
could be seen. There remained to her yet only certain 
artistic feelings, and that unendurable “Pan Ignas” might 
be satisfied, if from time to time she showed him now a 
broad field, now a bit of forest, now a strip of land with 
yellow grain, as if scattered in the light, and said, “ Beauti- 
ful! beautiful!” That was easier. He, itis true, could not 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 521 


find words to express admiration of the artistic depth of 
soul hidden in such a single word as “beautiful; ” but if 
that were true, what more did he want? and why, in con- 
versation, in feelings, in method of loving, did he force her 
to those useless efforts? If he did not force her, if that 
came without his knowledge, so much the worse for him, 
that, being by nature so abrupt, he did not even know it, 
In such a case let him talk with Steftsia Ratkovski, 

With ‘‘Koposio,” on the other hand, there was no need 
of effort; his society was real rest for Lineta. The mere 
sight of him made her eladsome, called out a smile on her 
face, inclined her to jesting. It is true that Pan Stanislay 
had once in his life been jealous of Kopovski; but to Pan 
Ignas, a man who lived a mental life far more exclusively, 
and therefore measured everything with a measure purely 
mental, it did not even occur that a maiden so spiritualized 
and so “wise” as “ Nitechka,” could for a moment consider 
Kopovski as other than a subject for witticisms, which 
she permitted herself continually. Had not Pani Bronich, 
in spite of all her mental shallowness, grown indignant 
at the mere hint of giving Lineta to Kopovski? What 
Pan Ignas had seen between Kopovski and Pani Aneta 
was no lesson, for he considered his ‘‘Nitechka” as the 
opposite pole of Aneta. ‘“ Nitechka,” besides, had chosen 
him, and he was the antithesis of Kopovski; that alone set 
aside every doubt. “Nitechka” amused herself with 
**Koposio,” painted him, conversed with him, though Pan 
Ignas could not exhaust his astonishment at this, — how 
she could avoid falling asleep while he talked; she joked 
with him, she followed him with a look of amusement, — 
but only because she was a child yet, needing moments of 
amusement, and even of vanity. But no one saw better 
than she his whole measureless stupidity, and no one spoke 
of it more frequently. How often had she ridiculed it to 
Pan Ignas! 

Not all eyes, however, looked at this amusement of hers 
in that way, and, above all, Pani Aneta looked at it differ- 
ently; from time to time she told her husband directly that 
Castelli was coquetting with Kopovski; to * Yozio” him- 
self this seemed at times to be true, and he had the wish 
to send Kopovski away from Prytulov politely. This Pani 
Aneta would not permit: “Since he is paying attention to 
Steftsia, we have no right to hinder that poor girl’s for- 
tune.” Osnovski was sorry to lose that dear Steftsia on 


522 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. | 


Kopovski; but since, in fact, she had no property, and 
since Aneta wished the match, he would not oppose it. 

But he was not able to control himself from astonish- 
ment and indignation at Castelka: “To have such a man 
as Ignas, and coquet with such a fool; to act so, a woman 
must be a soulless puppet surely.” At first he could not 
understand it. On the hypothesis, however, that Aneta 
must have been mistaken, he began to observe the young 
lady diligently; and since, aside from his personal relation 
to his wife, he was not by any means dull-witted, he saw 
a number of things which, in view of his friendship for 
Pan Ignas, disquieted him greatly. He did not admit, it 
is true, that anything might take place to change the posi- 
tion; but he asked himself what Ignas’s future would be 
with a woman who knew so little how to value him, and 
who was so slightly developed morally that she not only 
found pleasure in the society of such a brainless fop, but 
allowed herself to turn his head, and allure him. 

“Anetka judges others by herself,” thought Osnovski, 
“and has really deceived herself, ascribing certain deep 
feelings to Castelka. Castelka is a puppet; and, if spirits 
like Anetka and Ignas do not come, nothing rouses her.” 
In this way that unfortunate man, affected with the 
daltonism of love, while discovering truth on one side, 
fell into greater and greater error on the other. On 
“Castelka,” therefore, he looked more justly every day, 
and needed no excessive effort to convince himself that in 
the relations of that “ideal” ‘*Nitechka” with Kopovski 
there were jests, it is true, there was much contradiction, 
teasing, even ridicule; but there was also such an irresisti- 
ble weakness, and such an attraction, as women with the 
souls of milliners have for nice and nicely dressed young 
men. The phenomenal stupidity of Kopovski seemed to 
increase in country air; but as a recompense the sun gilded 
his delicate complexion, through which his eyes became 
more expressive, his teeth whiter, while the beard on his 
face was lighter, and gleamed like silk. Indeed, bright- 
ness shone not only from his youth and beauty, but also 
from his linen, from his neckties, from his exquisite and 
simple costumes. In the morning, dressed for lawn-tennis, 
in English flannel, he had in him the freshness of morning 
and the dreaminess of sleep. His slender, finished form 
appeared as if fondlingly through the soft cloth; and how 
could that bony Pan Ignas, with his insolent Wagner jaw 


a 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 52% 
and his long legs, be compared, in the eyes of those ladies, 
with that “mignon” who called to mind at once the gods 
of Greece and the fashion sheets, the glyptotheks of 
Italy and the table d’hétes of Biarritz or Ostend. One 
should be such an original as that still-water Steftsia 
to insist, unless from malice, that he was an insuffer- 
able puppet. Castelka, it is true, laughed when Svirski 


said that Kopovski, especially when some question was 


put to him on a sudden, had an expression in which were 
evident the sixteen “quarterings” of stupidity in his 
escutcheon, both on the inale and female side. In truth, 
he had a somewhat absent look, and, in general, could not 
understand at first what people said to him. But he was 
so joyous, he seemed so good-natured, and, in spite of a 
way of thinking which was not over elevated, he was so 
well-bred, beautiful, and fresh that everything might be 
forgiven hin. 

Pan Ignas deceived himself in thinking that only Pani 
Bronich was pining for things of external richness, and 
that his betrothed did not even know of those requests 
with which her aunt comes. Castelka did know of them. 
Having lost hope that “Pan Ignas” could ever be equal to 
Kopovski, she wanted at least that he should approach him. 
For things of external richness she had an inborn leaning, 
and “aunt,” when begging Pan Ignas to buy this or that 
for himself, merely carried out Lineta’s wishes. For her, 
really, one glance was enough to distinguish silk from 
Scotch thread, and all her soul was rushing instinctively 
to silk; for her Kopovski was among men what silk is 
among textures. Had it not been for Pani Aneta, who 
restrained the young man, and for the various lofty feel- 
ings which she had talked into Lineta, Lineta, without 
fail, would have married Kopovski. Osnosvki, knowing 
nothing of all this, was even astonished that that had not 
taken place; for he, in the end of his observations, had 
come to the conclusion that both for Lineta and Pan Ignas 
this would have been perhaps better. 

One day he confided these thoughts to his wife, but she 
grew angry, and said, with great animation, — 

“That did not happen, because it could not. No one is 
obliged to accommodate himself to Yozio’s plans. [, first 
of all, saw that Castelka was coquetting with Kopovski. 
Who could know that she was such a nature? To be 
betrothed and to coquet with other men, —that passes 


594 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


human understanding. But she does it through vanity, 
and through spite against Steftsia Ratkovksi, and maybe 
to rouse jealousy in Pan Ignas. Who knows why? It is 
easy for Yozio to talk now, and to throw all the blame on 
me for having made this marriage; let Yozio remember 
better how many times he was enchanted with Castelka, 
how-many times he said that hers was an uncommon nature, 
and that just such a one would make Pan Ignas happy. A 
pretty uncommon nature! Now she is coquetting with 
Kopovski, and if she were his betrothed she would coquet 
with Pan Ignas. Whoever is vain, will remain so forever. 
Yozio says that she was fitted for Kopovski; it was neces- 
sary to have that way of thinking at first, not at present, 
when she is the betrothed of Pan Ignas. But Yozio says 
this purposely to show me what a folly I committed in 
helping Pan Ignas.” 

And the whole affair was so turned by Pani Aneta that 
Pan Ignas and Castelka descended to the second place, but 
in the first appeared the cruelty and malice of Yozio. 
Osnovski, however, began to justify himself, and, opening 
his arms, said, — 

“Anetka! How canst thou even suppose that I wanted 
to do anything disagreeable to thee? I know, besides, 
how honest and cordial thy wishes were; but terror takes 
hold of me when I think of the future of Ignas, for I love 
him. I should wish from the soul of my heart that God 
had given him such a person as thou art. My dearest 
little bird, thou knowest that I would rather lose my 
tongue than say one bitter thing to thee. I came to thee 
so just to talk and take counsel, for I know that in that 
dear head of thine there is always some cure for every- 
thing.” 

When he had said this, he began to kiss her hands and 
then her arms and face with great affection, and with 
increasing enthusiasm; but she turned her head aside, 
twisting away from his kisses, and saying, — 

‘Ah, how Yozio is sweating! ” 

He was, in fact, almost always in perspiration, for he 
played whole days at tennis, raced on horseback, rowed, ° 
wandered through fields and forests, to grow thin as far as 
was possible. 

“Only tell me that thou art not angry,” said he, dropping 
her hand, and looking into her eyes tenderly. 

“Well, Iam not; but what help can I give? Let them 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 525 


go as quickly as possible to Scheveningen, and let Kopovski 
stay here with Steftsia.” at 

“See, thou hast found a plan. Let them go at the begin- 
ning of August. But hast thou noticed that somehow 
Stetftsia is not very —somehow Kopovski has not pleased 
her heart so far?” 

A Steftsia 1s secretive as few are. Yozio doesn’t know 
women. 

“Thou art right surely in that. But I even see that she 
doesn’t like Castelka. Maybe, also, she is angry in her 
heart with Kopovski, too.” ; 

“What!” inquired Aneta, with animation, “has Yozio 

seen anything with reference to Castelka? 
_ Koposio laughs at her, for he has good teeth; but 
if I should see anything, he wouldn’t be in Prytulov. 
Maybe, too, Castelka is coquetting with him, because such 
is her nature —without knowing it. That itself is bad, 
but that it should goas far as looking at each other seri- 
ously, I don’t believe. 

“But it is necessary to examine Koposio as to Steftsia. 
Knowest what, Yozio? JI will go this very day with him 
on horseback to lLesnichovka, and I will talk with him 
rather seriously. Go thou in another direction! ” 

“Good, my child. But see, thy head is finding measures 
already!” 

Going out, he stopped on the threshold, thought a while, 
and jsaid ; — 

“But how wonderful all this is! and how it passes 
understanding! This Ignas catches everything on the 
wing; and at the same time he worships Castelka as if she 
were some divinity, and sees nothing and nothing.” 

In the afternoon, when Kopovski and Pani Aneta were 
riding along the shady road to the forest cottage, Pan 
Ignas followed them with his eyes, and looked at her 
figure on horseback, outlined in the well-fitting riding- 
dress. “She is shaped like a slender pitcher,” thought he. 
“But how elegant and enticing she is! There is in this 
some irony of life, that that honest and kindly Osnovski 
divines nothing.” 

And truly there was irony of life in that, but not in that 
only. 


526 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER LIV. 


Since the day when Pani Aneta and Kopovski made the 
trip to Lesnichovka, something had changed in the social 
relations of the dwellers in Prytulov. Pan Ignas looked, 
it is true, as formerly, into the eyes of his aftianced, and 
was enchanted with her beyond measure; but in her inter- 
course with him and with others there was a certain light 
shade of iil-humor. Kopovski felt as if bound; he looked 
at Lineta by stealth only. He approached her hurriedly, 
and only in the absence of Pani Aneta; but he sat oftener 
near Panna Ratkovski, to whom he spoke, as it were, with 
his mind in another place. Pani Aneta was, moreover, 
more determined than usual; and, to the great satisfaction 
of “Yozio,” she extended now such watchful care over 
every affair in Prytulov, that she took Kopovski aside 
twice for personal explanations. Lineta’s glance did not 
follow Kopovski with that former half-gladsome, half- 
ironical freedom; but the cloudy eyes of Panna Ratkovski 
turned to Pan Ignas with a certain sympathy,—#in one 
word, something had changed both in looks and relations. 

But those were changes observable only to a very quick 
eye, and one accustomed to look at life of that kind, in 
which, for lack of greater objects and severe daily labor, 
the least shade of feelings and the most subtle movement of 
thoughts, and even dispositions, take on not only the form 
of far-reaching events, but frequently conceal the actual 
germs of such events in themselves. Externally life re- 
mained just the same it had been; that is, a kind of daily 
festival, a May day, country idleness, interwoven with 
love, esthetic impressions, more or less witty conversa- 
tions, and, finally, amusements. The arrangement of a 
whole series of these amusements, to fill out the day, was 
the sole occupation which weighed on their thoughts; and 
even this, for the greater part, Pan Osnovski took on him- 
self as master of the house. 

But on a certain day the uniform calm of that life was 
broken by a thunderbolt, under the form of two black- 
bordered envelopes addressed to Osnovski and Pan Ignas. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 527 


When they were brought in, the whole society was at after- 
dinner coffee; and the eyes of the ladies were turned with 
curiosity and alarm at the readers, who, taking cards from 
the unsealed envelopes, cried almost simultaneously ,— 

“Pan Zavilovski is dead! ” 

The news made a deep impression. Pani Bronich, as 
a person of the old school, and remembering those days 
when the coming of a courier in the country obliged the 
most sensitive ladies to faint, even before it was known 
what the courier had brought, fell into a kind of numbness, 
joined to loss of speech; Panna Ratkovyski, who had spent 
some time at Pan Zavilovski’s, and cherished great friend- 
ship for him and his daughter, grew pale in real earnest; 
Panna Lineta, seizing Pani Bronich’s hand, tried to restore 
her to consciousness, whispering, “ Voyons, chére, tu n’es 
pas raisonnable!” Pani Aneta, as if wishing to verify with 
her own eyes the substance of the announcement, took the 
. ecard from her husband’s hands, and read, — 


“The respected Pan Eustachius Zavilovski departed this life on 
the 25th day of July. His grief-stricken daughter invites relatives 
and friends to the funeral, at the parish church in Yasmen, on the 
28th day of the current month.” 


Then followed a moment of silence, which was broken 
by Pan Ignas. 

“T knew him little,” said he, “and was prepossessed 
against him once; but now I grieve for him sincerely, for 
I know that at heart he was a worthy man.” 

“ And he loved thee sincerely,” answered Osnovski. “I 
have proofs of that.” 

Pani Bronich, who, during this time, had recovered, 
declared that those proofs might appear now in their 
fulness, and that the heart of the deceased would very 
likely prove itself still greater than they imagined. “ Pan 
Eustachius always loved Nitechka much, and such a man 
cannot be malicious.” At times he had reminded her —that 
is, Pani Bronich — of Teodor, and therefore she had become 
so attached to him. He was, it is true, as abrupt on occa- 
sions as Teodor was gentle at all times; but both had that 
honesty of spirit which the Lord God is best able to value. 

Then she turned to “Nitechka,” reminding her that the 
least emotion would add to the sinking of her heart, and 
begging her to strive this time not to yield to innate sensi- 


528 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


tiveness. Pan Ignas, too, with the feeling that a common 
sorrow had struck him and Lineta for the first time, began 
to kiss her hands. ‘This state of mind was broken by 
Kopovski, who said, as if in meditation on the transitory 
nature of human affairs, — 

“T am curious to know what Panna Helena will do with 
the pipes left by her father.” 

In fact, the old noble’s pipes were famous throughout the 
whole city. Through dislike for cigarettes and cigars, he 
had in his day made a great collection in his mansion for 
lovers of the pipe. Kopovski’s anxiety about the pipes 
was not quieted, however, —first, because at that moment 
they brought Pan Ignas a letter from Pan Stanislav, con- 
taining also intelligence of the old man’s decease, and an 
invitation to the funeral; secondly, because Osnoyski began 
to advise with his wife about the trip to Yasmen. 

It ended in this,—that all were to go at once to the 
city, where the ladies would set about buying various small 
articles of mourning, and on the second day, the day of the’ 
funeral, they would be in Yasmen. Thus did they do. 
Pan Ignas, immediately after their arrival, went to his 
lodgings to carry home things, and prepare a black suit for 
mourning; and then he went to the Polanyetskis, suppos- 
ing that they, too, perhaps, had come in from the Bigiels. 
The servant informed him that his master had been there 
the day before, but had gone at once to Yasmen, near 
which place he had hired, or even bought, a house two 
weeks earlier. 

Hearing this, he returned to Osnovski’s villa to spend 
the evening with his betrothed. 

At the entrance, the tones of a waltz by Strauss, coming 
from the depth of the house, astonished him. Meeting in 
the next salon Panna Ratkovski, he inquired who was 
playing. 

“ Lineta is playing with Pan Kopovski,” answered she. 

“Then Pan Kopovski is here ?” 

“He came a quarter of an hour since.” 

“ And Pani and Pan Osnovski ?” 

They have not returned yet; Aneta is making pur- 
chases.” 

Pan Ignas, for the first time in his life, felt a certain dis- 
satisfaction with Lineta. He understood that the deceased 
was nothing to her; still the moment for playing a four- 
handed waltz with Kopovski seemed inappropriate. He had 


a 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 529 


a feeling that that showed want of taste. Pani Bronich 
who did not lack socie ty keenness, divined evidently that 
impression on his face. 

“Nitechka was moved greatly, and worn out,” said she ; 
“and nothing calms her lke music. I was much alarme d, 
for sinking of the heart had be gun with her; and when Pan 
Kopovski came, I myself proposed that the +y play something.” 

They stopped playing ; and Pan Ignas’s unpleasant im- 
pression disappeared by. degrees. There was for him in 
that villa a multitude of recent and precious remembrances, 
About dusk he took Lineta’s arm, and they walked through 
the rooms. They stopped in:various places; he called to 
mind something every moment. 

‘‘Dost remember,” asked he, in the studio, “ when paint- 
ing, thou didst take me by the temple to turn my head 
aside, and for the first time in life I kissed thy hand; and 
thy words, ‘Taik with aunt’?—TI lost not only con- 
sciousness, but breath. Thou, my chosen, my dearest!” 

And she answered, — 

“ And how pale thou wert then !” 

“Tt is difficult not to be pale when the heart is dying in 
one from emotion; and I loved thee beyond memory.” 

Lineta raised her eyes, and said after a while, — 

“ How wonderful all this is!” 

“ What, Nitechka ? ” 

“That it begins somehow, and begins as if it were a kind 
of trial, a kind of play; then one goes farther into it, and 
all at once the trap falls.” 

Pan Ignas pressed her arm to his bosom, and said, — 

“Ah, yes! it has fallen! I have my bright maiden, and 
I won’t let her go.” 

Then, walking on, they came to the great drawing-room. 

Pan Ignas pointed to the glass door, and said, — 

“Our balcony, our acacia-tree.” 

It grew darker and darker. Objects in the room were 
sunk in shade; only here and there, on golden picture 
frames, gleamed points of light, like eyes ‘of some kind 
gazing at the young couple. 

“Dost thou love me?” asked Pan Ignas. 

“Thou knowest.” 

“Say yes.” 

eves.” 

Then he pressed her arm more, and said with a voice 


changed through rising emotion, — 
84 


530 _CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“Thou hast no idea, simply, how much happiness is in 
thee. I give thee my word; thou hast no idea. Thou 
knowest not how I love thee. I would give my life for 
thee. I would give the world for one hair of thine. Thou 
art my world, my life, my all. I should die without 
thee.” 

“ Let us sit down,”’ whispered Lineta; “ I am so wearied.” 

They sat down, resting against each other, hidden in the 
dark. A moment of silence followed. 

“What is the matter? ‘Thou art trembling all over,” 
whispered Lineta. 

But she too, whether stirred by remembrances, or borne 
on by his feeling, or by nearness, began to breathe hur- 
riedly, and, closing her eyes, was the first to put her lips 
forward toward his. 

Meanwhile Kopovski was bored evidently in the adjoin- 
ing room with Panna Ratkoyski and Pani Bronich, for at 
that moment the tones of the waltz which he had played 
before with Lineta were heard. 

When Pan Ignas returned to his own lodgings, the place 
seemed the picture of sadness and loneliness, a kind of 
objectless nomad dwelling, after which there will not be 
one memory; and he thought that that golden “ Nitechka” 
had so wound herself around his heart that in truth he 
would not live without her, and could not. 

The funeral, on the third day, was not numerously 
attended. The neighboring estates, as lying near the city, 
belonged for the greater part to rich people, who passed the 
summer season abroad; hence not many of Pan Zavilovski’s 
acquaintances had remained in the city. But numerous 
throngs of villagers had assembled, who, crowding into the 
church, looked at the coffin as if with wonder that a man of 
such wealth, wading in property, in money and riches, was 
going into the ground like the first chance peasant who 
lived in a hut somewhere. Others looked with envy on the 
young lady to whom “so much wealth” was to fall. And 
such is human nature that not only peasants, but refined 
people, distant or near acquaintances of Pan Zavilovski, 
were unable even during the burial itself to refrain from 
thinking what that Panna Helena would do with those 
millions which were left her for the drying of tears. There 
were some too, who, supposing young Zavilovski as the last 
relative of that name, the heir of a considerable part of the 
property, gave themselves in secret the question whether 


> 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. §31 


that lucky poet, and millionnaire of the morrow, perhaps 
would stop writing verses. And they thought, as if with a 
certain unexplained satisfaction, that he would probably. 

But the chief attention was turned to Panna Helena. 
All wondered at the resignation with which she bore the 
loss, —the more painful, since after the death of her father 
she remained in the world all alone, without relatives 
nearer than the young poet, and even without friends, con- 
cerning whom she had long since ceased to busy herself, 
She walked after the coffin with a face over which tears 
were flowing, but which was calm, with that calmness usual 
to her, but somewhat lifeless and stony. On her return 
from the church, she spoke of the death of her father as if 
a number of months at least had passed since it happened. 
The ladies of Prytulov could not understand that an im- 
mense faith was speaking through her; and that in virtue 
of her faith, that death, in comparison with another, which 
she had survived, but which had rent her soul, seemed 
something that was sad, it is true, but at the same time a 
blessing, pressing out tears of sorrow, but not of despair. 
In fact, old Pan Zavilovski died very piously, though almost 
suddenly. From tho time of his arrival in Yasmen, he had 
the habit of confessing twice a week; hence he did not lack 
religious consolation. He died with the rosary in his hand, 
in his armchair, having fallen previously into a light sleep, 
without any suffering; his usual pain having left him a few 
days before, so that he had even begun to gain the hope of 
a perfect return of health. Panna Helena, while speaking 
of this, in her low uniform voice, turned at last to Pan 
Ignas and said, — 

“He mentioned you very often. Perhaps an hour before 
death he said that if you should come to Buchynek to 
Pan Polanyetski, to let him know, for he wished to see you 
without fail. Father loved and esteemed you greatly, 
greatly.” 

“Dear lady,” said Pan Ignas, raising her hands to his 
lips, “I join you in mourning for him sincerely.” 

There was something noble and truthful, as well in his 
tones as in his words, therefore Panna Helena’s eyes filled 
with tears; but the weeping of Pani Bronich was so loud 
that, had it not been tor a flask of salts given her by 
Lineta, it would have passed into a nervous attack, very 
likely. 

But Panna Helena, as if not hearing those sobs, thanked 


532 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Pan Stanislav for the aid which she had received from 
him, — he had occupied himself with those cares which the 
death of a near friend imposes, in addition to their mis- 
fortune, on those who are bereaved. He took all that on 
himself because of his active nature, and because at that 
juncture he seized every chance to occupy himself with 
something to deaden his thoughts, and escape from the 
torturing circle of his own meditations. 

Marynia did not go to the grave, for her husband did 
not wish her exposed to crowding and fatigue, but she 
kept company with Panna Helena in the house, giving her 
consolation, as she could. Afterward she wished to take 
her, with the Prytulov ladies, to Buchynek, and even to 
keep her there a few days. Pan Stanislav supported this 
request; but as Panna Helena had her old governess at the 
mansion, she refused, assuring Marynia that in Yasmen 
it would not be disagreeable at all to her, and that she did 
not wish to leave it for the first days especially. 

But the ladies from Prytulov, who, at the persuasion 
of Svirski, had intended to visit the Polanyetskis, went 
willingly with their acquaintances to Buchynek,—all the 
more since Pani Bronich desired to learn from Pan Stan- 
islay nearer details touching the last moments of the 
deceased. _Marynia, who had looked most curiously at 
Panna Ratkovski, took her in her carriage, and that hap- 
pened which happens sometimes in society, — that the two 
youthful women felt at once an irrestrainable attraction to 
each other. In Panna Ratkovski’s pensive eyes, in her 
expression, in her “retiring” face, as Svirski called it, 
there was something of such character that Marynia 
divined, at the first glance almost, a nature not bold, 
accustomed to retire into itself, delicate and sensitive. 
On the other hand, Panna Ratkovski had heard so much of 
Marynia from Pan Ignas, and heard because other ladies 
in Prytulov were not willing to lend their ears to praises 
of their neighbors, that, seeing in her eyes interest and 
sympathy, to which, in her poverty and loneliness, she 
was not accustomed, she nestled up with her whole heart 
to her. In this way they arrived at Buchynek as good 
friends, and Svirski, who was with Pan Stanislav, Osnovski, 
and Kopoyski, arrived right after them; it did not need 
any great acuteness to divine that the judgment of Marynia 
would be for Panna Steftsia. 

But he wished to hear it. Marynia began to show the 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 583 


guests her new residence, which was to be her property, 
for Pan Stanislav had decided already to buy it. They 
looked specially at the garden, in which were growing 
uncommonly old white poplars. Svirski, taking advantage 
of this walk, gave his arm to Marynia; and on the way 
back to the house, when the party had scattered somewhat 
along all the paths, he asked with great precipitance, — 

“Well, what is the first impression?” 

“The best possible. Ah, what a good and sensitive 
child that must be! Try to know her.” 

“I? What for? I will propose this day. You think I 
will not do that? Upon my word, I will, to-day —and in 
Buchynek! I have no time for examination and medita- 
tion. In those affairs there must be a little daring. I will 
make a declaration this day, as true as I am here before 
you.” 

Marynia began to laugh, thinking that he was jesting; 
but he answered, — 

“T am laughing, too, for there is nothing sad in this; 
it is no harm that this is a funeral day. I am not super- 
stitious; or rather, I am, for I believe that nothing from 
your hand can be evil.” 

“But it is not from my hand; I only made her acquaint: 
ance to-day.” 

“Tt is all one to me. I have been afraid of women all 
my life; but of this one, somehow, I have no fear. She 
simply cannot be a thankless heart.” 

“T think, too, that she cannot.” 

**And do you see? this is my last chance. If she 
accepts me, I will carry her all my life, see?” (here he put 
his hand in the bosom of his coat); ‘tif not, then —” 

“Then what?” 

“1711 shut myself in, and for a whole week will paint 
from morning till night. I have said that I would go to 
shoot ducks —but no! This is more important than you 
think. I judge, however, that she ought to accept me. | 
know that she does not like that ladies’ butterfly, that 
Kopovski; she is alone in the world, an orphan; she will 
do me a kindness, for which I shall be grateful all my 
days, because, really, I am a kind man—but I fear to 
grow embittered.” 

Marynia saw now, for the first time, that Svirski might 
speak seriously; and she answered , — 

‘“‘You are, in truth, a kind man; hence you will never 
be embittered.” 


534 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“On the contrary,” answered he, with great animation, 
“it might end in that; I will be outspoken with you. Do 
you think that I am as happy as I seem? God knows that 
Tam not. I have gained a little money and fame; that is 
true. But perhaps there has not been among men another 
who has so stretched forth his hands to a womanly ideal 
as I have. What is the result? I have met you, Pani 
Bigiel, maybe two or three others, worthy, true, sensible, 
pure as tears. Permit me! I do not wish to say pleasant 
things to you; but in what I say now I do not wish to 
announce a criticism, but to discover my suffering. I have 
seen among our women so much tinsel, so many common, 
frivolous natures, so much egotism, so much shallowness, 
so many thankless hearts, so many dolls from a picture, 
so many false aspirations, that from sight of them ten 
such men as I am might be embittered.” After a while he 
added: “This child seems different; quiet, mild, and very 
honest. God grant that it come to pass; God grant her 
to want me!” 

At the same time Pani Bronich, taking Pan Stanislav 
aside openly, spoke with uplifted eyes, — 

“Oh, yes! he reminded me of my years of youth; and, 
as you see, in spite of this —that for a long time relations 
between us were broken—TI preserved friendship for him 
to the end of his life. You must have heard! but no! 
you could not have heard, for I have never mentioned this 
to any one, that it depended on me alone—to be the 
mother of Helena. Now there is no longer any need to 
keep the secret. Twice he proposed to me, and twice I 
refused him. I respected and loved him always; but you 
will understand that when one is young, something else is 
sought for,—that is sought for which I found in my 
Teodor. Oh, that is true! Once he proposed in Ischia, 
a second time in Warsaw. He suffered much; but what 
could I do? Would you have acted otherwise if in my 
place? Tell me sincerely.” 

Pan Stanislav, not having the least desire to say, either 
sincerely or insincerely, how he would have acted in the 
position of Pani Bronich, replied ,— 

‘Did you wish to ask me about something? ” 

“Yes, oh, yes! I wanted to ask you about his last 
moments. Helena said that he died suddenly; but you, 
who lived so near him, must have visited him, therefore 
you will remember what he said. Maybe you know what 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 535 


his last intentions and thoughts were? Personally I have 
not the least interest in the matter. My God! would it 
not be difficult to act more disinterestedly? You do not 
know Nitechka? But Pan Zavilovski gave me his word 
that he would leave Pan Ignas his estates in Poznan. If 
he did not keep his word, or if he did not try to keep it, 
may the Lord God forgive him, as I forgive him! Wealth, 
of course, amounts to nothing. Who has given a better 
example than Nitechka of disregard for wealth? Were it 
the opposite, she would not have refused such matches as 
the Marquis Jao Colimacao, or Pan Kanafaropulos. You 
must have heard also of Pan Ufinski, —that same who, 
with his famous silhouettes, bought for himself a palace in 
Venice. His last work was to cut out the Prince of Wales. 
This very year he proposed to me for Nitechka. Oh, true! 
if any one has sought wealth, it is not we. But I should 
not wish Nitechka to think that she had made a saerifice, 
for still, between us, she is making a sacrifice, and if con- 
sidered in society fashion, a great sacrifice.” 

Pan Stanislav was an energetic man; angered by the last 
words of Pani Bronich, he answered, — 

“JT have not known either the Marquis Jao Colimacao 
or Pan Kanataropulos, but in this country they are 
rather fantastic names. I will suppose that Panna Castelli 
marries Pan Zavilovski out of love; in that case, every 
sacrifice is excluded. I am an outspoken man, and I say 
what I think. Whether Pan Ignas is a practical man is 
another question; but Pan Ignas does not know, and he 
does not want toask, what Panna Castelli brings him. The 
ladies know perfectly what he brings, even from a society 
point of view.” 

“Oh, but you have not heard that the Castellis are 
descended from Marino Falieri.” 

“That is precisely what neither I nor any one else has 

heard. Let us suppose that for me and you such views 
have no meaning; but since you say, first, that, taking 
things from a society point of view, Panna Castelli is 
making a great sacrifice, I do not hesitate to deny that, 
and to say that, omitting Pan Ignas’s talents and social 
position, the match is equal.” 
- From his tone and face it was evident that if Pani 
Bronich would not stop at what he said, he was ready to 
speak more openly; but Pani Bronich, having evidently 
more than one arrow in her quiver, seized Pan Stanislav’s 
hand, and, shaking it vigorously, exclaimed, — 


536 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. — 


“Oh, how honest you are, to take the part of Ignas so 
earnestly, and how I love him, as my own son! Whom 
have I in the world if not those two? And if I inquire 
whether you know of any arrangement made by Pan 
Zavilovski, I do so only through love for PanIgnas. I know 
that old people like to put off and put off, just as if death 
let itself be delayed by that. Oh, death will not be 
delayed! no, no! Helena has no use for all those millions; 
but Ignas — he might then spread his wings really. For 
me and Nitechka the question beyond all questions is his 
talent. But if anything should come to pass —” 

“What can I tell you?” said Pan Stanislav. “That Pan 
Zavilovski was thinking of Ignas is for me undoubted, and 
I tell you why. About ten days since, he gave command 
to bring some old arms to show them to me; thereupon he 
turned to his daughter, and I heard him say to her, ‘ These 
are not worth enumerating in the will; but after my death 
give them to Ignas, for you have no use for them.’ From 
this I infer that either he made some will in favor of 
Ignas, or thought of it. Further I know nothing, for I 
made no inquiry of him. Should there be any new will, 
it will be known ina couple of days, and Panna Helena 
of a certainty will not hide it.” 

“Do you know that honest Helena well? But no, no! 
You do not know her as I know her, and I can be a surety 
for her. Never suspect her in my presence! Helena hide 
awill? Never, sir!” 

“Tet the lady be so kind as not to ascribe to me a 
thought which I have not, and from which I guard myself. 
The will can in no case be concealed, for it is made before 
witnesses.” 

“And do you see that it is not even possible to conceal 
it, for it is drawn up before witnesses? I was sure that it 
could not be concealed; but Pan Zavilovski loved Nitechka 
so much that even out of regard for her, he could not for- 
get Ignas. He carried her in his arms when she was so 
big, see.” Here Pani Bronich put one hand above the 
other, so as to give Pan Stanislav in that manner an idea 
of how big Lineta might have been at the time; but aftera 
while she added, “ And maybe she was n’t even that big.” 

Then ti.ey returned to the rest of the company, who, 
having finished a survey of the garden, were assembling 
for dinner. Pan Stanislav, looking at the charming face 
of Lineta, thought that when Pan Zavilovski carried her 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 537 


in his arms, she might, in fact, have been a nice and pretty 
child. Suddenly he remembered Litka, whom he carried 
in his arms also, and inquired, — 

«Then are you an old acquaintance of the deceased?” 

Oh — so, answered Lineta. “About four years. Aunt, 
how long is it since we became acquainted with Pan 
Zavilovski?” 

OL what is that dear head thinking?” exclaimed Pani 
Bronich. ‘Ah, my dear, what a happy age! and what a 
happy period!” 

During this time Svirski, who was sitting near Panna 
Ratkovski, felt that it would not be so easy for him to 
carry out the promise given Marynia as it had seemed to 
him. Witnesses hindered him, and, still more, a certain 
alarm about the heart, joined to a loss of usual presence of 
mind and freedom. “To think,” said he to himself, “ that 
I am a greater coward than I supposed.” And he did not 
succeed. He wanted at least to prepare the ground, and 
he talked of something different from what he wished; he 
noticed now that Panna Ratkovski had a beautiful neck, and 
pearl tones about her ears, and a very charming voice — 
but he noticed with astonishment that this made him stil! 
more timid. After lunch the whole company sat together 
as if through perversity. The ladies were wearied by the 
funeral; and when, an hour later, Pani Aneta announced 
that it was time to return, he felt at once a sensation of 
disappointment and relief. 

“It is not my fault,” thought he; “I had a fixed 
purpose.” 

But when the ladies were taking their places, the feeling 
of solace changed into sorrow for himself. He thought of 
his loneliness, and of this, that he had no one on whom to 
bestow his reputation or his property; he thought of his 
sympathy for Panna Ratkovski, of the confidence which she 
had roused in him, of the sincere feeling which he had con- 
ceived for her at the first glance, —and at the last moment 
he took courage. 

Giving his arm to the young lady to conduct her to the 
carriage, he said, — 

“Pan Osnovski has asked me to come again to Prytulov, 
and I will come, but with a brush and palette; I should 
like to have your head.” 

And he stopped, trying how to pass from that which he had 
said to that which he wished to say, and feeling at the same 


538 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


time that he needed to hurry immensely, for there was no 
time. But Panna Ratkovski, evidently unaccustomed to 
this, that any man should occupy himself with her, inquired 
with unfeigned astonishment, — 

“Mine ?” 

“Permit me to be your echo,” replied Svirski, hurriedly, 
and in a somewhat stifled voice, “and to repeat that word.” 

Panna Ratkovyski looked at him as if not understanding 
what the question was; but at that moment Pani Aneta 
called her to the carriage, so Svirski had barely time to 
press her hand and say, — 

“Till we meet again.” 

The carriage moved on. Her open parasol hid the face 
of Panna Ratkovski quickly; the artist followed with his 
eyes the departing ladies, and at last gave himself the 
question, — 

“ Have I made a declaration, or not ?” 

He was certain, however, that Panna Ratkovski would 
think, during the whole drive, of what he had told her. He 
thought, also, that he had answered adroitly, and that he 
had made good use of her question. In this regard he was 
satisfied ; but at the same time he was astonished that he 
felt neither great joy nor fear, and that he had a certain 
dull feeling that something was lacking in the whole matter. 
It seemed to him that, in a moment so important, he was 
too little moved. And he returned from the gate to the 
house in thoughtfulness. 

Marynia, who had seen the parting from a distanee, had 
red ears from curiosity. Though her husband was not in the 
room at that moment, she dared not ask first; but Svirski 
read so clearly in her eyes the question, “Have you pro- 
posed?” that he laughed, and answered just as if she had 
inquired, — 

“Yes, almost. Not completely; there was no chance for 
further conversation, so I could not receive an answer. I 
do not know even whether I was understood.” 

Marynia, not seeing in him that animation with which he 
had spoken to her before, and, ascribing this to alarm, 
wished to give him consolation, but the entrance of Pan 
Stanislav prevented her. Svirski too began to take fare- 
well at once; but wishing evidently to satisfy her curiosity 
before he went away, he said, not regarding the presence of 
Pan Stanislav, — 

“In every case I shall be in Prytuloy to-morrow, orI shall 
write a letter; I hope that the answer will be favorable.” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 539 


Then he kissed her hands with great friendship, and, 
after a while, found himself alone in his droshky, in clouds 
ot yellow dust, and in his own thoughts. ; 

As an artist he was so accustomed to seizing in artist 
fashion various details which intruded themselves on his 
eyes that he did so even now, but mechanically, without 
proper consciousness, as if only at the surface of his brain, 
But in the depth of it he was meditating on everything 
that had happened. 

“What the devil, Svirski!” said he to himself; “ what 
is happening to thee? Hast thou not passed twenty-five 
years so as to be able to jump over this ditch ? Has not that 
happened for which thou wert eager this morning ? Where 
is thy transport ? thy delight ? Why art thou not shouting, 
At last! Thou art about to marry! Dost understand, old 
man? At last! At last!” 

But that was vain urging. ‘he internal man remained 
cold. He understood that what had happened ought to be 
happiness; but he did not respond to it. Greater and 
greater astonishment was seizing him. He had acted, it 
seems, with all knowledge and will and choice. He was 
not a child, nor frivolous, nor a hysterical person, who 
knows not what he wants. Having reasoned out, finally, 
that it would be well, he had not changed his opinion. 
Panna Ratkovski, too, was ever that same retiring, “ very 
reliable person;” why did the thought that she would be 
the “little woman,” desired from of old, not warm him 
more vigorously ? Why did hope, changed now almost into 
certainty, not turn into joy ? And at the bottom of his soul 
there remained a certain feeling of disappointment. 

“What I told her,” thought he, “ might be adroit, but it 
was dry. Let a thunderbolt strike me, if it was not, and, 
besides, it was unfinished. Simply I have no certainty yet, 
and I do not feel the thing as finished.” 

Here the impressions of an artist interrupted the thread 
of his thought. Sheep scattered on a sloping field visible 
from the road shaded by distance, and also bathed in the 
sunlight, seemed on the green background bright spots, 
with a strong tint of blue fringed with gold. 

“‘ Those sheep are sky blue, — impressionists are right in 
a small degree,” muttered Svirski; “but may the devil 
take them! J am going to marry!” 

And he returned to his meditations. Yes! The result 
did not answer to his hope and expectation. There are 


540 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL 


various thoughts which a man does not wish to confess to 
himself; there are feelings also which he does not wish to 
turn into definite thoughts. So it was with Svirski. He 
did not love Panna Ratkovski, and here was the direct 
answer to all the questions which he put to himself. 
But he dodged this answer as long as he could. He did 
not like to confess that he took that girl only because he 
had a great wish to marry. He wanted to explain to him- 
self that he did not feel the affair finished, which was 
an evasion. He was not in love! Others reached love 
through a woman; but he wanted to fit a woman to his 
general internal demand for loving, — that is, he went 
by a road the reverse of the usual one. Others, having a 
divinity, built for it a church; he, having a church ready, 
was bringing into it a divinity, not because he had wor- 
shipped the divinity with all his power previously, but be- 
cause it seemed to him not badly fitted for the architecture 
of the temple. And now he understood why he had shown 
so much ardor and resolution in the morning, but was so 
cold at that moment. By this was explained too the im- 
mense impetus in carrying out his plan, and the want of 
spiritual “halleluia,” after it had been carried out. 

Svirski’s astonishment began to pass into sadness. He 
thought that he would have done better, perhaps, if, instead 
of thinking so much about a woman, instead of forming 
theories of what a woman ought to be, he had caught up 
the first girl who pleased his heart and senses. He under- 
stood now that a man loves the woman whom he does love, 
and that he does not fit to her any preconceived ideas, for 
ideas of love —like children—can be born only of a 
woman. All this was the more felt by him since he was 
conscious that he could love immensely; and he saw more 
and more positively that he was not loving as he might 
love. He remembered what in his time Pan Stanislav had 
told him in Rome of a certain young doctor, who, trampled 
by a thoughtless puppet, said: “I know what she is; 
but I cannot tear my soul from her.’ There was love 
strong as death; that man loved! It is unknown why 
Panna Castelli and Pan Ignas came at once to Svirski’s 
mind; he remembered also Pan Ignas’s face as he had seen 
it in Prytulov, lost in contemplation and, as it were, rapt 
into Heaven. 

And again was roused in him the artist, who by whole 
years of custom takes the place of the man, even when the 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 541 


man is thinking of things the most personal. For a while 
he forgot himself and Panna Ratkovski, and thought of 
Pan Ignas’s face, and of that which formed specially its 
- most essential expression. Was it a certain concentrated 
exaltation? Yes! but there was something else which 
was still more essential. 

And suddenly he trembled. 

“A wonderful thing,” thought he; “that is a tragic 
head.” 


542 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER LV. 


A ¥ew days later Pan Ignas was summoned by Pan Stan- 
islav, and went to the city. The young man had a great 
desire to remain in Prytulov; but Panna Helena wished 
absolutely that he should be present at the opening of her 
father’s will. He went, therefore, with Pan Stanislav and 
the grand-nephew of old Pan Zavilovski, — the advocate 
Kononovich, — for that purpose to Yasmen. But when Pan 
Ignas, during the two following days, in his letters to 
“ Nitechka,” poured forth on paper only his feelings, and 
made not the least reference to the will, Pani Bronich, whom 
such effusions had delighted up to that time, coufessed now, 
as a secret, to Pani Aneta, that that was a stupid way of 
writing to a betrothed, and that there was quelque chose de 
louche in a silence which was as if designed. The first of 
those letters was sent, it is true, from the city, the second 
immediately after his arrival in Yasmen; the old lady in- 
sisted, however, that in every case Pan Ignas should have 
mentioned his hopes, at least, for by silence he showed 
“Nitechka” a lack of confidence, and simply offended her. 

Osnovski insisted, on the contrary, that Pan Ignas was 
silent concerning his hopes through delicacy toward Lineta; 
and on this subject it came to a little dispute between 
him and Pani Bronich, who on that oceasion uttered a 
psychic principle, that men in general have too weak a con- 
ception of two things: logic and delicacy. ‘Oh, that is 
true! As to logic, it is not your fault, perhaps; but you are 
that way, my Yozio, all of you.” Not being able, however, 
to stay two days in one place, she went to the city on some 
plausible pretext, so as to find an informant in the question 
of the will. 

Returning on the following day, she brought with her, 
first, Pani Mashko, whom she met at the Prytulov station, 
and who had been wishing for along time to visit “that 
dear Anetka,” and second, information that no new will of 
Pan Zavilovski had been found, and that the only and sole 
heiress of his immense property was Panna Helena. This 
news had been received in Prytulov already, by the third 
letter from, Pan Ignas, which Lineta had received mean- 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 543 


while; still its confirmation by Pani Bronich produced an 
uncommon impression, so that the arrival of Pani Mashko 
passed unobserved, as it were. This was all very strange. 
Those ladies had wade the acquaintance of Pan Ignas as a 
man without property. Lineta became his betrothed when 
there were no hopes of a will. The affair had been arranged 
first under the influence of Pani Aneta, who was “ firing the 
boilers, since there was need to move, and move quickly ;” 
it took place under the influence of the general enthusiasm 
roused by Pan Ignas’s poetry, under the influence of his 
fame; through the vanity of Pani Bronich and Lineta, 
which vanity felt not only satisfied, but borne away by this 
fact, that that famous and celebrated Zavilovski, who had 
turned all eyes to himself, was kneeling at the feet of no 
one else, but just “ Nitechka.” It took place, finally, for 
the sake of public opinion, which could not but glorify a 
young lady who had no thought for property, but only for 
that mental wealth which Pan Ignas possessed. It is true 
that, having begun in this way, everything went farther by 
the force too of that elemental rush, which, when once it has 
seized people, bears them on, without their will, as the eur- 
rents of rivers bear objects swept away by them. Be what 
might, Lineta became the betrothed of a man without prop- 
erty; and had it not been for those hopes which rose after- 
ward, neither she nor Pani Bronich, nor any one else, could 
have or would have taken it ill of Pan Ignas that he had no 
inherited fortune. But such is human nature, that just be- 
cause those hopes had risen, and by rising had made Pan 
Ignas an imposing match in the full measure, no one could 
help feeling a certain disappointment when they were blown 
apart now by the wind of reality. Some were grieved sin- 
cerely ; others, like Kopovski and like Pani Mashko, who did 
not know herself why, felt a certain satisfaction at such 
a turn of affairs, but even such atrue friend as Osnovyski 
could not resist some feeling of disappointment. 

Pan Ignas, in his last letter to Lineta, wrote among other 
things: “I should like to have wealth for thy sake; but 
what meaning has all wealth for me if compared with thee! 
I say sincerely that I have ceased to think of it; and I 
know that thou, whose feet walk not on the earth, art 
troubled no more thanI am. And, as truly as I love thee, 
I am not troubled at all. These great assurances which I 
make are for me immensely sacred; hence thou must believe 
me. Various wants and lacks threaten people in life, but I 


544 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


tell thee this simply, I will not give thee to any one. Thou 
art my golden! my one dear child, and lady.” 

Lineta showed this letter to Pani Aneta, to Panna Rat- 
kovski, and on the arrival of her aunt, to her aunt, of course. 
Pan Ignas had, indeed, not deceived himself as to her in 
this regard at least, that if in all Prytulov there was no talk 
of anything but old Pan Zavilovski’s will, Lineta would 
be silent amid those conversations and regrets. It may be 
that her eyes assumed to a certain degree their former 
dreamy expression; maybe at the very corners of her mouth, 
when people spoke of Pan Ignas, something like a minute 
wrinkle of contempt might be gathered; maybe, finally, she 
talked very much with “aunt” evenings, when, after the 
general good-night, they went to their own rooms; but like 
a person who “does not walk on the earth,” never did she 
raise her voice in this question before people. 

“ Koposio,” once on a time, when they were left alone for 
a minute, began to talk with her about it; but she put her 
finger first to her own lips, and then pointed from a distance 
toward his lips, in sign that she did not wish such conver- 
sation. What is more, even Pani Bronich spoke before her 
little and guardedly concerning her disappointment. But 
when “ Nitechka”’ was not in the room, the old woman could 
not stop the flow to her mouth of that bitterness which had 
risen in her heart; this flow carried her a number of times 
so far that she lacked little of quarrelling with Osnovski. 

Osnovski, casting from his soul that feeling of disappoint- 
ment which he had not been able to ward off at first, tried 
now witb all his power to decrease the significance of the 
catastrophe, and show that Ignas was in general an excep- 
tional match, and even in a financial view, quite a good 
one. 

“JT do not think,” said he, “that he would have stopped 
writing had he been old Zavilovski’s heir; but the mere 
management of such an immense property would have taken 
so much time that his talent might have suffered. As the 
question is of Ignas, I remember, aunt, what Henry VIII. 
said, when some prince threatened Holbein: ‘I can make 
ten lords out of ten peasants, if the fancy comes to me; but 
out of ten lords I cannot make one Holbein.’ Ignas is an 
exceptional man. Believe me, aunt, I have always con- 
sidered Lineta a charming and honest girl, and have al- 
ways loved her; but she really rose in my eyes only when 
she appreciated Ignas. To be something in the life of a 


. 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 545 


man like him, is what any woman might envy her, Is it 
not true, Anetka ?” 

“Of course,” answered Pani Osnovski; “it is pleasant for 
a woman to belong to a man who is something.” 

Osnovski seized his wife’s hand, and, kissing it, said, half 
in jest, half in earnest, — 

“And dost thou not think that this often torments me. 
that such a being as thou art should belong to such a zero 
as Yozio Osnovski? But it is hard to help it! The thing 
has happened; and, besides, the zero loves much.” 

Then he turned to Pani Bronich, — 

“Think, aunt,” said he, “Ignas has a number of thou- 
sands of rubles of his own; and, besides, after his father’s 
death he will have what old Zavilovski secured to him. 
Poor he will not be.” 

“Oh, naturally,” answered Pani Bronich, shaking her 
head contemptuously ; “ Nitechka, in accepting Zaviloyski, 
did not look for money, of course; if she had looked for 
money, it would have been enough for us to raise a hand at 
Pan Kanafaropulos.” 

“Aunt! Mercy!” exclaimed Pani Aneta, laughing. 

“But nothing has happened,” said Osnovski. “It is sure 
that Panna Helena will not marry, and the property will 
pass sometime, if not to Ignas, to his children, —that’s the 
whole affair.” 

Seeing, however, that the face of Pani Bronich was de- 
pressed continually, he added after a while, — 

“Well, aunt, more agreement with the will of God! more 
calmness. Ignas is not an inch less.” 

“Of course,” answered she, with a tinge of anger; “of 
course all that changes nothing. Zavilovski in his way has 
talent; and every one must confess that in his way he forms 
a match beyond all expectations. Oh, yes; of this there 
cannot be two opinions. Of course nothing is to be said of 
the property, all the more since people tell various things 
of the ways by which old Pan Zavilovski increased it so 
greatly. May God be good to him, and pardon him for 
having deceived me, it is unknown why! ‘This very day 
Nitechka and I prayed for his soul. It was difficult to do 
otherwise. Of course I should prefer that he had not had 
that inclination to untruth, for it may be a family trait, 
Nitechka and I would prefer, too, that Pan Ignas had given 
us less frequently to understand that he would be an heir 
of Pan Zavilovski.” 

35 


546 ’ CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“T beg pardon most earnestly,” interrupted Osnovski, 
with vigor. “He never gave that to be understood. Aunt 
will permit—this is too much. He did not wish to men- 
tion it; aunt asked him in my presence.” 

But Pani Bronich was in her career, and nothing could 
stop her; so she said, with growing irritation, — 

“ He did not give Yozio to understand this, but he gave 
me to understand it. Nitechka can testify. Besides, I 
said to Yozio, ‘ Never mind this matter.’ Of course nothing 
has changed; and if we have some grief, it is at least not 
from this cause. Yozio has never been a mother; and as a 
man he can never understand how much fear we mothers 
feel at the last moment before giving a child into strange 
hands. I have learned of late, just now, that Zavilovski, 
with all his qualities, has a violent temper; and he has. I 
have always suspected him of something similar; and that 
being so, it would be simply death for Nitechka. Pan Po- 
lanyetski himself did not deny that he has a violent temper. 
Pan Polanyetski himself, though his friend, so far as men 
can be friends, gave to understand that his father, too, had 
a violent temper, and because of it fell into insanity, which 
may be in the family. I know that Pan Ignas seems to 
love Nitechka, in as far as men can love truly; but will 
that love last long? That he is selfish, Yozio himself will 
not deny; for that matter, you are all selfish. Then let 
Yozio not be astonished that in these recent hours terror 
seizes me when I think that my darling may fall into the 
hands of a tyrant, a madman, and an egotist.” 

“No.” cried Osnovski, turning to his wife; “as I love 
thee, one’s ears simply wither; one may simply lose one’s 
head.” 

But Pani Aneta seemed to amuse herself with that con- 
versation as she would in a theatre. The quarrels of her 
husband with Pani Bronich always amused her; but now 
she was carried away more than usual, for Pani Bronich, 
looking at Osnovski as if with pity, continued, — 

“Besides, that sphere! All those Svirskis and Polanyet- 
skis and Bigiels!| We are blinded in Zavilovski, all of us; 
but, to tell the truth, is that sphere fit for Nitechka ? 
Hardly. The Lord God himself made a difference between 
people; and from that comes a difference in breeding. 
Perhaps Yozio does not give himself a clear account of 
this, for, in general, men are unable to give account to 
themselves of such matters; but I tell Yozio that there are 





CHILDREN OF THE SOID. 547 


shades and shades, which in life may become enormously 
important. Has Yozio forgotten who Nitechka is, and 
that if anything pains such a person as Nitechka, if any- 
thing wounds her, she may pay for it with her life? Let 
Yozio think who those people are, speaking among our- 
selves, —such people as the Polanyetskis, and such men as 
Svirski, and that whole company with which Pan Ignas 
associates, and with which he will force Nitechka to asso- 
ciate, perhaps !” 

“Well, let us take things from that point of view,” inter- 
rupted Osnovski. “Very well! Let it be so. First of all, 
then, who was old Pan Zavilovski? That aunt knows 
clearly enough, even out of regard to her own relations 
with him. If it is a question, aunt, of the sphere, I have 
the honor to say that we all, in relation to such people as 
the Polanyetskis, are parvenus, and are taking liberties 
with them. I never enter into genealogies; but since aunt 
wants them, let aunt have them. Aunt must have heard 
that the Svirskis are princes. ‘That line which settled in 
Great Poland dropped the title, but has the right to it; that 
is who they are. As to us, my grandfather was a manager 
in the Ukraine, and I do not think of denying that. Out of 
what did the Broniches grow? Aunt knows better than I 
do. Ido not touch that matter; but, since we are alone, 
we can speak openly. Of the Castellis, too, aunt knows.” 

“The Castellis are descended from Marino Falieri,” 
exclaimed Pani Bronich, with enthusiasm. 

“ Beloved aunt! I remind thee that we are alone.” 

“ But it depended on Nitechka to become the Marchioness 
Colimagao.”’ 

“La vie parisienne!” answered Osnovski.  ‘* Aunt 
knows that operetta. There is a Swiss admiral in it.” 

Pani Aneta was amused to perfection ; but it became dis- 
agreeable to Osnovski that he had raised in his own house 
reminiscences which were not agreeable to Pani Bronich, 
hence he added, — 

“But why all our talk? Aunt knows how I have ai- 
ways loved Nitechka, and how from the core of my heart i 
wished her to be worthy of Ignas.” 

But this was pouring oil on the flames, for Pani Bro- 
nich, hearing this blasphemy, lost the last of her cool blood, 

- and exclaimed, — 

“Nitechka worthy of Ignas ?_ Such a—” 

Happily the entrance of Pani Mashko interrupted further 
conversation. Aunt Bronich was silent, as if indignation 


548 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


had stopped the words in her mouth; Pani Aneta began to 
inquire of Pani Mashko what the rest of the company were 
doing, and where she had left them. 

“Pan Kopovski, Lineta, and Stefania remained in the 
conservatory,” answered Pani Mashko; “ the two ladies are 
painting orchids, and Pan Kopovski amused us.” 

“ How ?” asked Osnovski. 

“ With conversation; we laughed heartily. He told us 
that his acquaintance, Pan Vyj, who very likely is a great 
man at heraldry, told him in all seriousness that there is a 
family in Poland with the escutcheon, ‘Table legs.’ ” 

“Tf there is one,” muttered Osnovski, humorously, “it 
is the family of the Kopovskis, beyond doubt.” 

“And did Steftsia remain, too, in the conservatory ? ” 
asked Pani Aneta. 

“Yes; they are sketching together.” 

“ Dost wish to go to them ?” 

“ Let us go.” 

But at that moment the servant brought letters, which 
Pan Osnovski looked over, and delivered. “For Anetka, 
for Anetka!” said he; “this little literary woman has an 
enormous correspondence always. For you,” added he, 
turning to Pani Mashko; “for aunt; and this is for Steft- 
sia, — somehow a known hand, quite familiar. The ladies 
will permit me to carry her this letter.” 

“Of course; go,” said Pani Aneta, with animation; “and 
we will read ours.” 

Osnovski took the letter and went in the direction of the 
conservatory, looking at it, and repeating, “ Whence do I 
know this hand ?—as if —I know that I have seen this 
hand.” 

In the conservatory he found three young people, sitting 
under a great arum at a yellow iron table, on which the 
orchid was standing. Both ladies were painting it in al- 
bums. Kopovski, a little behind them, dressed in a white- 
flannel costume and black stockings, was looking over the 
shoulders of the young ladies into the albums, smoking 
meanwhile a slender cigarette, which he had taken from an 
elegant cigarette-case lying near the flower-pot. 

“ Good-day!” said Osnovski. ‘What do you think of 
my orehids ? Splendid, are n’t they ? What peculiar flowers 
they are! Steftsia, here is a letter; ask the company to 
excuse thee, and read it, for it seems to me that I know the 
handwriting, but I cannot in any way remember whose it 
can be.” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 549 


Panna Ratkovski opened the letter, and began to read. 
After a while her face changed; a flame passed over her 
forehead, then paleness, and again a flame. Osnovski 
looked at her with curiosity. When she had finished read- 
ing, she showed him the signature, and said, with a voice 
which trembled somewhat, — 

“See from whom the letter is.” 

“Ah!” said Osnovski, who understood everything at 
once. 

“May I ask thee for a moment’s talk ?” 

“At once, my child,” answered he, as if with a certain 
tenderness; “I will serve thee.” 

And they went out of the conservatory. 

“But they have left us alone for once even,” said Ko- 
povski, naively. 

Lineta did not answer; but, taking Kopovski’s white- 
leather cigarette-case, which was lying on the table, began 
to draw it across her face gently. 

He looked at that beautiful face with his wonderful eyes, 
beneath which she simply melted. Lineta had known for a 
long time what to think of him; his boundless stupidity 
had no longer any secret from her. Still the exquisiteness 
and incomparable beauty of that dullard brought her 
plebeian blood into some uncommon movement. Every hair 
in his beard had a certain marvellous and irresistible charm 
for her. 

“ Have you noticed that for a long time they are watch- 
ing us, like I know not whom ?” continued Kopovski. 

But she, feigning not to hear, continued to draw the 
cigarette-case across her delicate face, and, bringing it nearer 
and nearer to her lips, said, — 

“ How soft this is; how pleasant to the touch!” 

Kopovski took the cigarette-case ; but he put it to his lips 
and began to kiss lightly the part which a while before had 
touched Lineta’s face. Then a moment of silence rose be- 
tween them. 

“‘We must go from here,” said Lineta. 

And, taking the pot of orchids, she wished to put it on 
steps in the conservatory ; she was not able to do so, how- 
ever, because of the slope of those steps. 

“Permit me,” said Kopovski. 

“No, no!” answered Lineta; “it would fall, and be 
broken; I will put it on the other side.” mS: 

Saying this, she went with the pot of orchids in her 


200 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


hands around to the other side of the steps, where between 
them and the wall was a narrow passage. Kopovski followed 
her. There she stepped on to a pile of bricks, and put the 
orchids on the highest step; but at the moment when she 
turned to descend, the bricks moved under her feet, and 
she began to totter. Just at that moment, Kopovski, who 
was standing behind, caught her by the waist. 

For a few seconds they remained in that posture, she 
leaning with her shoulder against his breast, he drawing 
her toward him. Lineta leaned over more, so that at last 
her head was on his shoulder. 

“What are you doing? This is wrong!” she began to 
whisper, with panting breast, surrounding him with her hot 
breath. 

But he, instead of an answer, pressed his mustaches to 
her lips. All at once her arms embraced his neck with a 
passionate movement, and she began breathlessly and madly 
to return his kisses. 

in their ecstasy, neither observed that Osnovski, in re- 
turning through the open doors of the conservatory, passed 
along on the soft sand beyond the entrance, and looked at 
them with a face changed and pale as linen from emotion. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 551 


CHAPTER LVI. 


MEANWHILE Pan Ignas spent the time between Warsaw 
and Buchynek, going from one place to the other daily, re- 
maining now here, now there, just as his work and business 
commanded. Since his marriage was to take place in the 
fall, immediately after the season in Scheveningen, Pau 
Stanislav told him that it was time to find a dwelling, and 
furnish it, even in some fashion. He and Bigiel promised 
every assistance in that affair. Pani Bigiel was to see to 
the part which pertained to housekeeping. Pan Ignas’s 
presence in Buchynek was necessary also in view of his 
relations with Panna Helena, ‘Though the will of her 
father, bearing date a year earlier, made her the only heiress 
of the whole immense property, she did not hide in the least 
that she knew that her father did not make another will 
simply because either he had not foreseen a death so sud- 
den, or had deferred the matter from day to day, in the 
manner of old people. She had not the least doubt, how- 
ever, that hér father wished to do something for a man of 
the same name, and a relative; and she said openly that 
she held it a duty to carry out her father’s wish. No one, 
it is true, could foresee in what measure she would decide 
to do that; and for her too it was difficult to answer such a 
question, before she had made an exact inventory of all the 
properties and moneys; meanwhile, however, she began to 
present Pan Ignas with everything which, in her opinion, 
male heirs should inherit. In this way, she gave him a part 
of the household plate, left after the deceased, as well as a 
considerable and valuable collection of arms, which the old 
man prized, and horses greatly esteemed by him, — these 
Polanyetski took on commission ; and, finally, that collection 
of pipes the fate of which had concerned Kopoyski so 
much. 

Cold, and apparently indifferent to all, intimidating people 
by her severe and concentrated expression of face, she had 
for Pan Ignas alone, in her voice and look, a certain some- 
thing almost motherly; just as if with the property she 
had inherited from her father his inclination for the young 
man. He was indeed the only person on earth with whom 


552 CHILDREN OF THE SUIL. 


she was connected by bonds of blood, or at least by identity 
of name. Learning from Pan Stanislav of the steps taken 
by Pan Ignas toward furnishing a house, she begged him to 
put in the bank for her a considerable sum in the name of 
“Pan Ignas,” for outlays toward that end, begging, how- 
ever, not to mention the matter to him immediately. 

Pan Ignas, who had a young and grateful heart, became 
attached to her quickly, as to an elder sister; and she felt 
perfectly that sympathy of two natures, who wish each 
other well, and feel mutual confidence. Time usually 
changes original sympathies of that sort into great, enduring 
friendship, which in evil periods of life may be of great 
support. But at that juncture, Pan Ignas could devote to 
her barely a tiny part of his soul; for he had applied soul, 
heart, and all his powers, with the entire exclusiveness of a 
fanatic in love, to the greater and greater adoration of 
* Nitechka.” 

Meanwhile he was as busy as a fly in a pot, between 
Buchynek and the city, and even made new acquaintances. 
One of these was Professor Vaskovski, who had returned 
from his pilgrimage among the “ youngest of the Aryans.” 
He had visited the shores of the Adriatic, and the entire 
Balkan peninsula; but the state of his health was so pitiful 
that Pan Stanislav took him for good to Buchynek, to save 
the poor man from being cheated, and to give him needful 
care, which in his loneliness he could not have found in 
another place. Pan Ignas, himself a person of lofty soul, 
and ready to grasp every broad idea, though it might seem 
absurd to common-sense fools, conceived from the first day 
a love for the old man, with his theory of a historical mis- 
sion predestined to the youngest of the Aryans. Of this 
theory he had heard already more than once from Svirski 
and Polanyetski, and considered it a splendid dream. But 
it struck him and Svirski and the Polanyetskis that the 
professor, on returning from his journey, answered only that 
“No one could escape the service which Christ had pre- 
ordained to him;” then he gazed forward with his mystic 
eyes, as if seeking something, or looking for something in 
infinity, and his old face took on an expression of such 
deep sorrow, and even of such pain, that no one had the 
heart to touch that particular question. The doctor called 
in by Polanyetski declared that the greasy kitchen of the 
youngest of the Aryans had given the old mana serious 
catarrh of the stomach, to which was added marasmus 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 553 


senilis. The professor had, in fact, a serious catarrh of the 
stomach; but Pan Ignas divined in him something else, — 
namely, a desperate struggle between doubt and that in 
which he believed, and to which, as a real maniac-idealist, 
he had devoted a lifetime. Pan Ignas alone understood the 
whole tragedy of such a final ergo erravi ; and he was doubly 
moved,— first, as a man with a heart, second, as a poet, who 
at once saw a theme for a poem: the old man before the 
house, in the sun, sitting on the ruin of his life and beliefs, 
with the words, “ vanity, vanity,” on his lips, and waiting for 
death, whose steps he hears now in the distance. 

But with the professor it was not so bad, perhaps, as Pan 
Ignas had imagined. “The youngest of the Aryans” 
might, indeed, have disappointed him; but there remained 
the faith that Christianity had not uttered its last word yet, 
and that the coming epoch in the life of humanity would 
not be anything else than a spreading of the spirit of Christ, 
and a transfer of it from relations between individuals to 
general human relations. “Christ in history ” did not cease 
to be for him a vision of the future. He believed even 
always that the mission of introducing love into history 
was predestined to the youngest of the Aryans; but from 
the time of his journey a deep sadness had seized him, for 
he understood that, before that could be realized, not only he, 
but whole generations, must die of catarrh of the stomach, 
caused by the indigestible kitchen of principalities on the 
Danube. 

Meanwhile he shut himself up in himself, and in silence 
which had more the appearance of life-sorrow than it was 
in reality. Of his “idea,” he hardly ever spoke directly, 
but the idea was evident. Just as the hand of a clock, 
stopped at a certain hour, never indicates any hour but 
that, so the indicator of his thought did not desert that 
idea; for to various questions he answered with words 
which were rather connected with it than the thing touch- 
ing which he was questioned. Whenever they wished to 
eall him back to reality, it was needful to rouse him. In 
dress he neglected himself utterly, and seemed every day to 
forget more and more that buttons on a vest, for example, 
are there to be buttoned. With his eternal absence of 
mind; with his eyes both short-sighted and child-like, refleet- 
ing in some mechanical] way external impressions ; with a 
face of concern, on which pimples had become still more evi- 
dent because of defective digestion ; finally, with a neglect 


554 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


of dress, and his wonderful trousers, which, it is unknown 
for what reason, were twice as wide as the trousers of other 
men, — he roused mirth in strangers, and became frequently 
the object of jokes more or less malicious. It seems that 
he roused such feelings first of all in the “ youngest of the 
Aryans.” In yeneral, they considered him as a man in 
avhose head the staves lacked a hoop; but some showed 
him compassion. The word “harmless” struck his ears 
frequently, but he feigned not to hear it. He felt, how- 
ever, that at Pan Stanislav’s he was comfortable; that no 
one laughed at him, no one showed him the compassion 
shown idiots. 

Finally, neither the too greasy kitchen of the “youngest 
of the Aryans,” nor the catarrh of the stomach, had taken 
away his boundless forbearance, and his kindness to people. 
He was always that dear old professor who fell into revery, 
but who recovered his senses when it was a question of 
others. He loved, as of old, Marynia, Pan Stanislav, Pani 
Emilia, Svirski, the Bigiels, even Mashko, —in a word, all 
those with whom life had brought him in contact. In gen- 
eral, he had a certain strange understanding of people; 
namely, that all, whether willing or unwilling, were serving 
some purpose, and were like pawns which the hand of God 
is moving for reasons which He Himself knows. Artists, 
like Svirski, he esteemed as envoys who “ reconcile.” 

He looked in the same way on Pan Ignas, whose poetry 
he had read before. On becoming acquainted with the 
author, he looked at him as curiously as at some peculiar 
object ; but in the morning, when the poet had gone to the 
city, and they began to talk about him during tea, the old 
man raised his finger, and, turning to Marynia, said, with a 
look of mystery, — 

“Oh, he is God’s bird! He does not know what God 
wrote on his head nor to what He designed him.” 

Marynia told him of Pan Ignas’s approaching marriage, 
of his feeling for Panna Lineta, and of her, praising her 
goodness and beauty. 

“Yes,” said the professor, when he had heard all, “you 
see she too has her mission, and she too is ‘chosen.’ God 
commanded her to watch over that flame; and since she is 
chosen, she should be honored for having been chosen. Do 
you see? Favor is upon her.” Then he grew thoughtful 
and added, “All this is precious for humanity in the 
future.” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 555 


Pan Stanislav looked at his wife, as if wishing to say that 
the professor was dreaming disconnectedly; but the latter 
blinked somewhat, and, looking before him, continued, — 

There is in the sky a Milky Way; and when God wishes, 
He takes dust from it and makes new worlds. And you see 
I think there is likewise a spiritual Milky Way, wade up of 
all that people have ever thought and felt. Everything is 
in it,— what genius has accomplished, what talent has 
wrought; in it are the efforts of men’s minds, the honesty 
of women’s hearts, human goodness, and people’s pains. 
Nothing perishes, though everything turns to dust, for out 
of that dust, by the will of God, new spiritual worlds are 
created for people.” 

Then he began to blink, weighing what he had said; after 
that, as if coming to himself, he looked for the buttons of 
his vest, and added, — 

“But that young woman must have a soul pure as a tear, 
since God pointed her out and designated her to be the 
guardian of that fire.” 

Svirski’s arrival interrupted further conversation. For 
Marynia it was not a surprise, as the artist had promised 
her that either he would come himself or write to inform 
her what turn his affair had taken. Marynia, seeing him 
now through the window, was nearly certain that all had 
ended auspiciously ; but when he had entered the room and 
greeted every one, he looked at her with such a strange 
face that she did not know what to divine from it. Evi- 
dently he wished to speak of the affair, and that immedi- 
ately ; but he did not like to do so before the old professor 
and Pan Stanislav. So the latter, to whom Marynia had 
told everything, came to his aid, and, pointing to his wife, 
said, — 

“ She needs a walk greatly; take her to the garden, for I 
know that she and you have some words to say.” 

After a while they found themselves in the alley among 
the white poplars. They walked a time in silence, he 
swaying on his broad hips of an athlete, and seeking for 
something from which to begin, she bent somewhat for- 
ward, with her kindly face full of curiosity. Both were in 
a hurry to speak, but Svirski began at another point. 

“Have you told all to your husband?” asked he, on a 
sudden. 

Marynia blushed as if caught in a fault, and answered, — 

“Yes; for Stas is such a friend of yours, and I do not like 
to have secrets from him.” 


-=—-A 


000 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“ Of course not,” said Svirski, kissing her hand. “You 
did well. I am not ashamed of that, just as I am not 
ashamed of this, that I got a refusal.’ 

“Tmpossible ! You are joking,” said Marynia, halting. 

“T give you my word that Iam not.” And, seeing the pain 
which the news caused her, he began to speak as if with 
concern. “But don’t take it more to heart thanI do. That 
happened which had to happen. See, I have come; I am 
standing before you; I have not fired into my forehead, and 
have no thought of doing so; but that I got a basket? is 
undoubted.” 

* But why ? what did she answer you ?” 

“Why ? what did she answer me?” repeated Svirski. 
“You see, just in that is hidden something from which 
there is a bitter taste in my mouth. I confess to you sin- 
cerely that I did not love Panna Ratkovski deeply. She 
pleased me; they all please me. I thought that she would 
be an honest and grateful heart, and I made a declaration 
here; but more through calculation, and because it was 
time for me. Afterward I had even a little burning at 
the heart. There was even a moment when I said to my- 
self, ‘Thy declaration in Buchynek was not precise enough; 
better put it forward another corner.’ I grew shamefaced. 
‘What the deuce!’ thought I; ‘thou hast crossed the 
threshold with one foot; go over with the other.’ And I 
wrote her a letter, this time with perfect precision; and 
see what she has written as an answer.” 

Then he drew a letter from his coat-pocket, and said, 
before he began to read it, — 

“At first there are the usual commonplaces, which you 
know. She esteems me greatly; she would be proud and 
happy (but she prefers not to be); she nourishes for me 
sincere sympathy. (If she will nourish her husband as she 
does that sympathy, he will not be fat.) But at the end she 
says as follows : — 


““¢T have not the power to give you my heart with such delight as 
you deserve. [have chosen otherwise; and if I never shall be happy, 
[ do not wish at least to reproach myself hereafter with not having 
been sincere. In view of what has happened here I cannot write 
more; but believe me that I shall be grateful to you all my life for 
your confidence, and henceforth I shall pray daily that God permit 

you to find a heart worthy of you, and to bless you all your life.’ 


“That is all.” 


1 Was rejected. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 557 


A moment of silence followed ; then Svirski said, — 

“So far as Iam concerned, these are empty words; but 
they mean, I love another.” 

“That is the case, I suppose,” replied Marynia, sadly, 
“Poor girl! for that is an honest letter.” 

“An honest letter, an honest letter!” cried Svirski. 
“They are all honest, too. ‘That is why it is a little bitter 
for me. She does n’t want me, Allright; that is permitted 
to every one. She is in love; that, too, is permitted. But 
with whom is she in love? Not with Osnoyski or Pan 
Ignas, of course. With whom, then? With that head of a 
walking-stick, that: casket, that pretty man, that tailor’s 
model, — with that ideal of a waiting-maid. You have seen 
such beautiful gentlemen depicted on pieces of muslin? 
That is he, perfectly. If he should stand in a barber's 
window, young women would burst in the glass. When he 
wishes, he puts on a dress-coat; when not, he goes so, and 
all right! You remember what I said of him,— that he was 
a male houri? And this is bitter, and this is ill-tasting” 
(he spoke with growing irritation, accenting with special 
emphasis the word is), ‘‘and this speaks badly of women; 
for be thou, O man, a Newton, a Raphael, a Napoleon, and 
wish thou as thy whole reward one heart, one woman’s 
head, she will prefer some lacquered Bibisi. That’s how 
they are.” 

“Not ali women, not all. Besides, as an artist, you 
should know what feeling is. Something falls on a person, 
and that is the end of all reasoning.” 

“True,” said Svirski, calmly; “I know that not all 
women are so. And as to love, you say that something 
falls, and there is an end. Perhaps so. That is like a 
disease. But there are diseases by which the more noble 
kinds of creatures are not affected. There is, for instance, 
a disease of the hoofs. You will permit me to say that it 
is needful to have hoofs in order to get this disease. But 
there has never been a case that a dove fell in love with a 
hoopoo, though a hoopoo is a very nice bird. You see that 
doesn’t happen to the dove. Hoopoos fall in love with 
hoopoos. And let them fall in love for themselves, if only 
they will not pretend to be doves. That is all I care. 
Remember how I spoke once against Panna Castelli at 
Bigiel’s. And still she chose Pan Ignas at last. For me, 
it is a question of those false aspirations, that insincerity, 
and those phrases. If thou art a hoopoo’s daughter, have 


558 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


the courage to own it. Do not pretend; do not lie; do not 
deceive. I, aman of experience, would have wagered my 
neck on this, that Panna Ratkovski is simply incapable 
of falling in love with Kopovski; and still she has. I am 
glad that here it is not a question of me, but of comedy, of 
that conventional lying,—and not of Panna Ratkovski, 
but of this, that such a type as Kopovski conquers,” 

“True,” said Marynia; “but we ought to find out why 
all this has become entangled somehow.” 

But Svirski waved his hand. “Speaking properly,” said 
he, “it is rather unravelled. If she had married me! 
surely I should have carried her at last in my arms. I give 
you my word. In me immensely much tenderness is aceu- 
mulated. I should have been kind to her, and it would have 
been pleasant for both of us. I am also a little sorry for it. 
Still, she is not the only one on earth. You will find some 
honest soul who will want me; and soon, my dear lady, for 
in truth at times I cannot endure asIam. Will you not?” 

Marynia began to be amused, seeing that Svirski himself 
did not take the loss of Panna Ratkovski to heart so very 
greatly. But, thinking over the letter a little more calmly, 
she remembered one phrase, to which she had not turned 
attention at first, being occupied entirely with the refusal, 
and she was disquieted by the phrase. 

“Have you noticed,” asked she, “that in one place, she 
says, ‘After what has happened here I cannot write more’ ? 
Can you think what that may be?” 

“ Perhaps Kopovski has made a declaration.” 

“No; in such a case she would have written more ex- 
plicitly. If she has become attached to him, she is a poor 
girl indeed, for likely she has no property, and neither is 
Pan Kopovski rich, they say; therefore he would hardly 
decide —” 

“True,” said Svirski; “you know that that came to my 
mind, too. She is in love with him, — that is undoubted; 
but he will not marry her.” Then he stopped, and said, 
“Tn such a case, why is he staying there ?” 

“'They amuse themselves with him, and he amuses him- 
self,” answered Marynia, hurriedly, while turning away 
her face somewhat, so that Svirski might not notice her 
confusion. 

And she answered untruly. Since Pan Stanislav had 
shared his views with her touching Kopovski’s relations 
with Pani Osnovski, she had thought of them frequently ; 








a 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 559 


the stay of the young man in Prytulov seemed to her sus- 
picious more than once, and explaining it by the presence 
of Panna Ratkovski dishonest. This dishonesty was in- 
creased, if Panna Ratkovski had fallen in love really with 
Kopovski. But all those intrigues might come to the sur- 
face any moment; and Marynia thought with alarm then 
whether the words of Panna Ratkovski — “after what has 
happened here” —had not that meaning precisely. In 
such a case it would be a real catastrophe for that honest 
Pan Osnovski and for Panna Steftsia. 

Really everything might be involved in a tragic manner. 

“T will go to-morrow to Prytulov,” said Svirski; “I 
wish to visit the Osnovskis, just to show that I cherish no 
ill-feelings. If anything has happened there really, or if 
any one has fallen ill, I shall discover it and let you know. 
Pan Ignas is not there at this moment.” 

“No. Pan Ignas is in the city. To-morrow, or after 


‘to-morrow surely, he will come here, or go to Yasmen. 


Stas, too, is preparing for the city to-day. Sister Aniela is 
ill, and we wish to bring her here. Since I cannot go, 
Stas is going.” 

‘‘Sister Aniela? That one whom your husband ealls 
Pani Emilia, —a Fra Angelico face, a perfectly sainted 
face, a beautiful face! I saw her perhaps twice at your 
house. Oh, if she were not a religious!” 

“She is sick, the poor thing. She can barely walk. She 
has disease of the spine, from overwork.” 

“Oh, that is bad,” said Svirski. “ You will have the pro- 
fessor, and that poor woman — But what kind people you 
are! ” 

“That is Stas,” replied Marynia. 

At that moment Pan Stanislav appeared at the end of the 
walk, and approached them with a hurried step. 

“JT hear that you are going to the city to-day,” said 
Svirski; “let us go together.” 

eAoreed |? 

And, turning to his wife, he said, — 

“ Marynia, hast thou not walked enough? Wilt thou lean 
on me?” 

Marynia took his arm, and they walked to the veranda 
together; after that she went in to give command to bring 
the afternoon tea. 

“‘T have received a wondertul despatch,” said Pan Stan- 
islav; “I did not wish to show it before my wife. Osnov- 


560 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


ski asks me where Ignas is, and asks that I go to the city 
on his affair, What can that be?” 

“Tt is a wonderful thing,” answered Svirski. “ Panna 
Ratkovski writes me that something has happened there.” 

“ Has any one fallen ill ?” 

“They would have sent for Pan Ignas directly. If it 
were Panna Castelli or Pani Bronich, they would summon 
him at once.” 

* But if Osnovski did n’t wish to frighten him, he would 
telegraph to me.” 

And both looked each other in the eyes with alarm. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 561 


CHAPTER LVIL. 


Next day, half an hour after Pan Stanislav’s arrival, 
Osnovski rang at his house. At the sound of the bell, Pan 
Stanislav, who had been in great alarm since the day before, 
went himself to the door. He had admitted for some time 
that a bomb might burst in Prytulov any day; but he strug- 
gled in vain with his thoughts, to discover what connection 
the explosion might have with Pan Ignas. 

Osnovski pressed his hand at greeting with special force, 
as is done in exceptional circumstances; and when Pan 
Stanislav invited him to his study, he asked on the way, — 

Are you living in Buchynek ? ” | 

“Tam; we are perfectly alone.” 

In the study, Osnovski, when he had sat in the armchair 
pointed out to him, bent his head and was silent for a while, 
breathing hurriedly meantime; for in consequence of exces- 
sive exercise he was affected somewhat with distention of 
the lungs. At present emotion, and the steps, obstructed his 
breath still more. Pan Stanislav waited patiently for some 
time; at last his inborn curiosity conquered, and he asked, — 

“What has happened ?” 

“A misfortune has happened,” said Osnovski, in deep 
sorrow. “Ignas’s marriage is broken off.” 

ce ny? 7” 

“Those are things so disagreeable that it would be better 
‘for Ignas perhaps not to know the reasons. For a time, | 
even hesitated to mention them. But he ought to know all; 
for this is a question of more importance than his self-love. 
Indignation and disgust may help him to bear the misfortune. 
The marriage is broken, for Panna Castelli is not worthy of 
such aman as Pan Ignas; and if to-day there could be a 
talk of renewing the relation, I would be the first to veto 
it decisively.” , 

Here Osnovski began to catch breath again; but Pan 
Stanislav, who had been listening as if fixed to the floor, 
burst out suddenly, — 

“By the dear God, what has happened 

36 


9) 
: 


562 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“ This has happened, that those ladies went abroad three 
days ago, with Kopovski as the betrothed of Panna 
Castelli.” 

Pan Stanislav, who a moment before had sprung up from 
the chair, sat down again. On his face, with all its emotion 
and alarm, was reflected unspeakable astonishment. He 
looked for some time at Osnovski, and then, as if unable to 
collect his thoughts, said, — 

“ Kopovski ? —and has Panna Castelli gone too?” 

But Osnovski was too much occupied with the affair itself 
to turn attention to the particular form of Pan Stanislav’s 
inquiry. 

“Tt is unfortunate,” said he; “you know that I am re- 
lated to those ladies: my mother was a sister of Pani 
Bronich, and also of Lineta’s mother; and for a time we 
were reared together. You will understand that I would 
rather spare them. But let that go. Our relations are 
broken; and, besides, if Lineta were my own sister, I would 
say what I say now. As to Pan Ignas, since my wife and 
I are going, and that to-day I may not find him, I will 
even say openly that I lack courage to talk with him; but 
I will tell you what I saw. You, as his near friend, may be 
able to soften the blow; he should know everything, for in 
a misfortune of this kind, there is no better cure than 
disgust.” 

Here he began to tell Pan Stanislav what he had seen in 
the conservatory. Excited himself, he lost breath at 
moments, but was unable to resist a certain astonishment 
at sight of the feverishness with which Pan Stanislav 
listened. He had hoped for cool blood in the man; he 
could not, of course, divine that Pan Stanislav had personal 
reasons, in virtue of which a narrative of that sort acted 
more powerfully on his nerves than would news even of the 
death of Pan Ignas or Panna Castelli. 

“At the first moment I lost my head,” continued Osnov- 
ski; “I am not hasty, but how I avoided breaking his bones, 
I know not. Perhaps I remembered that he was my guest; 
perhaps, since it is a question here of something more im- 
portant than he, I thought of Ignas; perhaps I thought of 
nothing. I lost my head, and went out. After a time I re- 
turned, and told him to follow me. I saw that he was pale, 
but decided. In my own room I told him that he had acted 
unworthily ; that he had abused the hospitality of an honor- 
able house; and that Lineta was a wretch, for whom I had 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL.’ 563 


not sufficient words of contempt; that, by this same act, her 
marriage with Pan Ignas was broken, — but that I would 
force him to marry her, though I had to go to extremities, 
Here it turned out that they must have taken counsel dur- 
ing the interval in which I left them alone; for he told me 
that he had been in love with Lineta a long time, and that 
he was ready to marry her at any moment. As to Pan 
Ignas, I felt that Kopovski was repeating words which 
Lineta had dictated, for he told me that which he could not 
have come at himself. He said that he was ready to give 
every satisfaction, but that he was not bound to count with 
Pan I[gnas, for he had no obligations touching him; ‘Panna 
Lineta has chosen me finally; that,’ said he, ‘is all the 
worse for him, but it is her affair. What was going on 
meanwhile between aunt and Lineta, I cannot tell; it is 
enough that before I had finished with Kopovski, Aunt 
Bronich rushed in like a fury, with reproaches, saying that 
I and my wife had not permitted Lineta to follow the 
natural impulse of her heart; that we had thrust her on 
Pan Ignas, whom she had never loved; that Lineta had 
eried whole nights, and that she would have paid for that 
marriage with her life; that what happened now was by the 
express will of God, — and so for a whole hour. We are to 
blame; Pan Ignas is to blame, —they alone are faultless.” 

Here Osnovski rubbed his forehead with his hand, and 
said, — 

“T am thirty-six years of age; but before this affair lL 
could not even imagine what woman’s perversity may be. 
I cannot understand yet such an inconceivable power of 
perverting things, of placing them bottom upward. I un- 
derstand what the situation was; I understand that they 
thought everything finished with Pan Ignas, even for this 
alone, that I hindered, and that there was no one left for 
them save Kopoyvski. But the ease with which white was 
made black, and black white; that lack of moral sense, that 
absence of truth and justice, —that egotism without bound 
or bottom. The deuce might take them were it not for 
Ignas. He would have been most unhappy with them ; but 
what a blow for a man of such nature, and so much in love; 
what a deception! But Lineta! Who could have supposed ? 
Kopovski, such a fool, such a fool! And that young woman 
thought to be so full of impulses; she who a few weeks be- 
fore exchanged rings, and gave her word! And she the 
betrothed of Pan Ignas! As God lives, a man might lose 
his senses.” 


564 ‘CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“A man might lose his senses,” repeated Pan Stanislav, 
as an echo. 

A moment of silence followed. 

“But is it long since this happened?” asked Pan 
Stanislav, at last. 

“Three days ago they went to Scheveningen together. 
They started that very day; Kopovski had a passport. See 
how a supreme ass may still have some cunning. He had 
a passport ready, for he pretended to pay court to Panna 
Ratkovski, my cousin, and to be ready to go abroad with 
us; he pretended to be courting this one, so as to have the 
chance of turning the other one’s head. Ai, poor Pan 
Ienas, poor man! I give you my word, that if he had been 
my brother, I should not have had more sympathy for him. 
Better, better, that he had not bound himself to such a 
Lineta; but what a crash!” 

Here Osnovski took out a handkerchief and rubbed his 
glasses, blinking meanwhile with a suffering and helpless 
expression of face. 

“Why did you not inform us earlier?” inquired Pan 
Stanislav. 

“Why did I not inform you earlier? Because my wife 
fell ill. Nervous attacks—God knows what! You will 
not believe how she took it to heart. And no wonder! 
Such a woman as she is—and in our house! With her 
sensitiveness, that was a blow, for it was a deception on the 
part of Lineta, whom she loved so much; and her sorrow 
for Ignas, and that contact with evil, and her disgust! On 
such a pure and sensitive nature as hers is, that was more 
than was needed. At the first moments I thought that she 
would be dangerously ill, and even now I say, God grant 
that it have no fatal effect on her nerves! We simply 
cannot give an account to ourselves of what takes place in 
a soul like hers at the very sight of evil.” 

Pan Stanislav looked carefully at Osnovski, bit his 
mustache, and was silent. 

“T sent for the doctor,” continued Osnovski, after a while, 
“and lost my head a second time. Happily, Stefania 
Ratkovski was there, and that worthy Pani Mashko. Both 
occupied themselves with Anetka so earnestly that I shall 
be grateful to them for a lifetime. Pani Mashko seems 
cold, but she is such a cordial person — ” 

“T judge simply,” said Pan Stanislav, wishing to turn 
the conversation from Pani Mashko, “that if old Zavilovski 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 565 


had left his property to Ignas, all this would not have 
happened.” 

“Perhaps not; but for me again it is not subject to 
doubt that if Lineta had married Ignas, and even if he owned 
all Pan Zavilovski’s property, her instinct would attract her 
toward as many Kopovskis as she might chance to meet in 
her lifetime; she is that kind of soul. But I understand 
some points; I have said that it is possible to lose one’s 
mind at the thought that things are as they are, but I give 
a partial account to myself of what has happened. Hers 
is too common a nature to love really such a man as Pan 
Ignas; she needs Kopovskis. But they talked into her 
various lofty impulses, and finally she talked into herself 
that which did not exist. They seized on Ignas through 
vanity, through self-love, because of public opinion, and 
because they had no true knowledge of themselves; but 
what is insincere cannot last. From the moment when 
their vanity was satisfied, Ignas ceased to interest those 
ladies. Then they were afraid that with him, perhaps, 
they would not have such a life as alone is of worth to 
them; perhaps he, with his too lofty style, began to weary 
them. Add to this the story of the will, which, without 
being certainly the main cause of the catastrophe, dimin- 
ished Pan Ignas in their eyes; add, before all, the instincts 
of Lineta’s nature; add Kopovski, and you have an answer 
to all. ‘There are women like Pani Polanyetski or my 
Anetka; there are women, also, like Lineta and her aunt.” 

Here Osnovski was silent again for a time; then he 
said, — 

“T see the regret and indignation of your wife, and I 
am sorry that you have not seen how this affected mine — 
or even Pani Mashko. Yes, there are women and women; 
but I tell you that we ought to thank God every day on 
our knees tor having given us such wives as we have.” 
And his voice trembled with emotion. 

Pan Stanislav, though for him it was a question mainly 
of Pan Ignas, was simply astounded that a man who, some 
minutes before, understood things so profoundly and well, 
could be so naive. <A bitter smile came on him, too, at 
mention of Pani Mashko’s indignation. In general, he was 
seized by a feeling of a certain crushing irony of life, the 
whole immensity of which he had never seen before so 
distinctly. 

“ Will you not see Ignas?” asked he, after a while. 


566 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“T tell you plainly that I do not feel sufficient courage; 
to-day I return to Prytulov, and to-day we will go from 
our station. I must take my wife abroad, — first, because 
she herself begged me tearfully to do so, and second, per- 
haps her health will be restored by change of air. We 
will go somewhere to the seaside, only not to Scheveningen, 
where they went with Kopovski. But I have a great re- 
quest to make of you. You know how I love and value 
Ienas? Let me know by letter how the poor man receives 
the news, and what happens to him. I would ask the favor 
of Svirski, but I may not see him.” 

Then Osnoyski covered his face and said, — 

* Ai! how sad all this is, how sad!” 

“Very well,” said Pan Stanislav; “send me your address, 
and I will report to you how matters turn. But since the 
grievous mission falls to me of telling Ignas what has 
happened, lighten it for me. It is necessary that he 
receive information not from a third person, or a fourth, 
but from some one who saw everything. If he hears of 
the event from me, he may think that I represent the affair 
inaccurately. In such cases a man grasps at every shadow 
of a hope. Sit down and write to him. I will give him 
your letter in support of what I tell him; otherwise he 
may be ready to fly after them to Scheveningen. I con- 
sider such a letter indispensable.” 

“Will he not come here soon?” 

‘“*No; his father is sick, and he is with him. He thinks 
that I shall be here only in the afternoon. Write to him 
surely.” 

“You are right, perfectly right,” said Osnovski. And 
he sat down at the writing-desk. 

“Trony of life, irony of life!” thought Pan Stanislav; 
“bloody irony is this which has met Pan Ignas. What 
is such a person as Panna Castelli, with her bearing of a 
swan, and her instincts of a chambermaid, —that ‘ chosen 
of God,’ as Vaskovski said only yesterday? What is Pani 
Bronich, and Osnovski, with faith in his wife, and the 
nervous attacks of that wife, caused by the mere contact 
with evil, of sweh a pure soul, and the indignation of Pani 
Mashko? Nothing but a ridiculous human comedy, in 
which some are deceiving others, and others deceiving 
themselves; nothing but deceived and deceivers; nothing 
but mistakes, blindness, and errors, and lies of life, and 
victims of error, victims of deceit, victims. of illusions; 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 567 


a complication without issue; a ridiculous, farcical, and 
desperate irony, covering the feelings, the passions, and 
hopes of people, just as snow covers fields in winter — 
and that is life.” 

These thoughts were for Pan Stanislav more grievous 
because, rising on a basis purely personal, they became at 
once a kind of reckoning with his conscience. He was 
enough of an egoist to refer everything to himself; and 
he was not fool enough not to see that in that most ironical 
human comedy he was playing a role immensely abject. 
His position was of that sort that he wished with all the 
power of his breath to hiss that Panna Castelli; and still 
he understood that if there was any one who was not free 
to judge her, it was he. In what was he better? In what 
was he less vile? She had betrayed a man for a fool; he 
had betrayed his wife for a brainless puppet. She had 
followed her instincts of a milliner; he had followed his in- 
stincts of an ape. But she had trampled on artificial 
phrases merely, with which she deceived herself and others; 
he had trampled on principles. She had betrayed confi- 
dence, and broken her word; he had betrayed confidence 
also, and broken more than a word,—he had broken an 
oath. And in view of this what can he say? Has he the 
right to condemn her? If there is no way to justify her, 
if he is ready to acknowledge that it would be unjust and 
deserving of indignation for a person like her to become 
the wife of Pan Ignas, with what right is he the husband 
of Marynia? If he can find even one word of condemna- 
tion for Panna Castelli, —and it is impossible not to find 
it, —and he wishes to be consistent, he should separate 
from Marynia, which he will never have either the will or 
the power to do. There is a vicious circle for you. Pan 
Stanislav had passed many bitter moments because of his 
success ; but this moment was so grievous that it even filled 
him with amazement. By degrees it became simply a 
torture. At last, through the simple instinct of self- 
preservation, he began to seek for something to give him 
even momentary relief. But in vain did he say to himselt 
that such people as Kopovski would not have taken his 
position to heart so. That was the same consolation to 
him as if he had thought that a cat or a horse would not 
have taken it to heart so either. In vain he remembered 
the words of Balzac: “Infidelity, when undiscovered, is 
nothing; when discovered, it is a trifle.” “That’s a lie,” 


568 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


repeated he, gritting his teeth, “a pleasant nothing, which 
burns so!” He understood, it is true, that behind the 
fact itself there may be something which heightens or 
lessens its criminality; and he understood also that in 
his case all the circumstances are of a kind to make the 
fault immense and unpardonable. ‘‘Here,” thought he, 
‘it takes from me the right of judging, the right of serv- 
ing with my conscience. Those women sacrificed a man 
of the loftier kind for an idiot; they trampled him; they 
pushed him into misfortune, into tragedy, which may 
break him; they did this in a mean and abject manner, 
and I cannot, even in my soul, brand such a woman as 
Panna Castelli.” And never before had the truth become 
to him so nearly tangible that as a man for certain crimes 
is deprived of a share in public life, so he now had become 
deprived of a share in moral life. He had had remorse 
enough already, but now he saw still new desolations, 
which he had not noted at first. The more he thought 
over the tragedy of Pan Ignas, and took in its extent with 
growing clearness, the more he was seized by a dull alarm, 
and a kind of prescience that in virtue of a higher and mys- 
terious logic, something terrible must happen in his fate 
as well. For the man who bears in his system the germs 
of mortal disease, death is a question of time simply. 

At last, however, he found this relief, that his thoughts 
turned exclusively to the present, and to Pan Ignas. How 
will Pan Ignas receive the news? How will he bear it? In 
view of the man’s exaltation, in view of his deep, blind 
faith in Lineta, and the love which he feels for her, these 
questions were simply terrible. “Everything in him will 
be broken; all will slide away from under his feet in a 
moment,” thought Pan Stanislav. It seemed to him that 
there was something repulsive and monstrous in this, that 
even those relations of life which do not bear in them 
germs of tragedy, and which ought to end well, end badly 
without any reason; and that life is, as it were, a forest in 
which misfortunes hunt aman more venomously than dogs 
hunt a wild beast, for they hunt in silence. Pan Stanislav 
felt suddenly that besides faith in himself, which he had 
lost already, there might fail in him various other things 
too, which are more important, because they are more 
fundamental. 

In this moment, however, he thought more of Pan Ignas 
than of anything else. He had a good heart, and Pan 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL 569 


Ignas was near him; hence he was touched sincerely by 
his misfortune. “But that man is simply writing his 
sentence,” thought he, as he heard the squeak of Osnovski’s 
pen in the next room. “Poor fellow! And this is go 
undeserved.” 

Osnovski finished the letter at last, and, opening the 
door, said, — 

“T have written guardedly, but written the whole truth. 
May God give him strength now! Could I think that I 
should have to send him such news! ” 

But under the sincere sorrow was evident, as it were, a 
certain satisfaction with his own work. Clearly he judged 
that he had succeeded in writing better than he had 
expected. 

“And now I repeat once again an earnest prayer: send 
me even a couple of words about Ignas. Oh, if this were 
not so irreparable!” said he, extending his hand to Pan 
Stanislav. ‘‘Till we meet again! till we meet again! J 
will write to Ignas, too, but now I must go, for my wife is 
waiting. God grant us to see each other in happier times! 
Till we meet! A most cordial greeting to the lady,” and 
he went out. 

**What is to be done?” thought Pan Stamislavy. “ Limit 
myself to sending the letter to Pan Ignas in his lodgings, 
or look for him, or wait for him here? It would be well 
not to leave him alone at such a time; but I must return in 
the evening to Marynia, so that he will be alone in any 
case. Besides, who can hinder him from hiding? In his 
place, I should hide too, —I must go to Pani Emilia’s.” 

He felt so tired from that sudden tragedy, from thoughts 
about himself, and thoughts about the difficult rdle which 
he had to play with Pan Ignas, that he remembered with 
some satisfaction that he must go to Pani Emilia’s and 
take her to Buchynek. For a moment he was tempted to 
defer the interview with Pan Ignas, and the delivery of 
the letter, till the following day; but it oceurred to him 
that if Pan Ignas did not find him at home, he might go to 
Buchynek. 

‘“‘Better let him know everything here,” thought he; 
“in view of Marynia’s condition, 1 must keep everything 
perfectly secret from her, — both what has happened, and 
what may happen hereafter. J must warn every one to be 
silent. Pan Ignas would do better to go abroad; I could 
tell Marynia that he is in Scheveningen, and later, that 
they disagreed and separated there.” 


570 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Now again he began to walk with long strides through 
the room, and repeat, — 

“The irony of life! the irony of life!” 

Then bitterness and reproaches flamed in on his soul 
with a new current. He was seized by a wonderful feel- 
ing, as it were, of some kind of responsibility for what 
had happened. ‘‘Deuce take it!” repeated he; “but I am 
not to blame at least in this matter.” After a while, 
however, it came to his head that if he were not to blame 
personally, he, in every case, was a stick from the same 
forest as Panna Castelli, and that such as he had infected 
that social-moral atmosphere in which such flowers might 
spring up and blossom. At this thought he was carried 
away by savage anger. 

The bell in the entrance was heard now. Pan Stanislav 
was a man of courage, but at the sound of that bell he felt 
his heart beat in alarm. He had forgotten his promise to 
lunch with Svirski, and at the first moment he was sure 
that Pan Ignas was coming. He recovered only when he 
heard the voice of the artist, but he was so wearied that 
Svirski’s coming was disagreeable. 

“Now he will let out his tongue; he will talk,” thought 
he, with displeasure. 

But he decided to tell Svirski all, for the affair could 
not be kept secret in-any case. The point for him was 
that Svirski, if he visited Buchynek, should know how to 
pear himself before Marynia. He was mistaken in sup- 
posing that Svirski would annoy him with theories about 
ungrateful hearts. The artist took the matter, not from 
the side of general conclusions, but that of Pan Ignas. To 
conclusions he was to come later; at present, while listen- 
ing to the narrative, he only repeated, “A misfortune! 
May God protect!” But at times, too: “ May the thunder- 
bolts crush!” when his fists of a Hercules were balled in 
anger. 

Pan Stanislav was carried away somewhat, and attacked 
Panna Castelli without mercy, forgetting that he was 
uttering thereby a sentence on himself. But, in general, 
the conversation gave him relief. He regained at last 
his usual power of management; he concluded that in no 
case could he leave Pan Ignas at such a moment, so he 
begged Svirski to take his place, conduct Pani Emilia to 
Buehynek, and excuse to Marynia his absence with count- 
ing-house duties. Svirski, who had no reason now to visit 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 571 


Prytulov, agreed very willingly, and since the carriage 
engaged by Pan Stanislav had arrived, both drove to Pani 
Emilia’s. 

Labor beyond her strength — labor which, as a Sister of 
Charity, she had to fulfil — brought on a disease of the spine. 
They found her emaciated and changed, with a trans- 
parent face and eyelids half closed. She walked yet, but 
by leaning on two sticks and not having full use of her 
lower limbs. As labor had brought her near life, so sick- 
ness had begun to remove her from it. She was living in the 
circle of her own thoughts and reminiscences, looking at 
the affairs of people somewhat as though a dream, some- 
what as from the other shore. She suffered very little, 
which the doctors considered a bad sign; but, as a Sister 
of Charity, she had learned something of various diseases, 
and knew that there was no help for her, or, at least, that 
help was not in human power, and she was calm. ‘To Pan 
Stanislav’s inquiries she answered, raising her eyelids with 
effort, — 

“JT walk poorly; but it is well for me that way.” 

And it was well for her. One moral seruple alone gave 
her trouble. In her soul she believed most profoundly that 
were she to visit Lourdes she would regain her health 
surely. She did not wish to go because of the remoteness 
of Lourdes from Litka’s grave, and because of her own 
wish for death. But she did not know whether she hada right 
to neglect anything to preserve the life given her, and espe- 
eially whether she had a right to put a hindrance in the 
way of grace and miracles, and she was disturbed. 

At present, however, the thought of seeing Marynia 
‘smiled on her, and she was ready for the road; Svirski was 
to take her at five. The two men went now to the lunch 
agreed on, for Svirski, in spite of his amazement at the 
affair of Pan Ignas, felt as hungry as a wolf. After they 
had sat down at table, they remained a while in silence. 

“JT wanted to make one other request of you,” said Pan 
Stanislav at last, “to inform Panna Helena of everything 
that has happened, and also to tell her not to mention the 
matter to my wife.” 

“TI will do so,” said Svirski. “TI will go this very day to 
Yasmen, as if to walk, and try to see her. Should she not 
receive me, I will send her a note, stating that it is a ques- 
tion of Pan Ignas. If she wishes to come to Warsaw, | 
will bring her, for I shall return to-day in every case. Did 


572 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Osnovski say whether Panna Ratkovski had gone with 
them,” inquired the artist, after a pause, “or will she stay 
in Prytulov ?” 

“He said nothing. Usually Panna Ratkovski lives with 
her old relative, Pani Melmitski. If she goes, it will be as 
company for Pani Osnovski, whose angelic nature got a 
palpitation of the heart at sight of what has happened.” 

“ Ah!” said Svirski. 

“Yes. There is no other cause for it. Panna Ratkovski 
was stopping with the Osnovskis, so that Kopovski might 
seem to court her; but since he was courting another, there 
is no further reason for her stay there.” 

“ As God lives, this is something fabulous!” said Svir- 
ski; “so that all, with the exception of Pani Osnovski, fell 
in love with that hoopoo.” 

Pan Stanislav smiled ironically and nodded his head; on 
his lips were sticking the words, “ without exception, with- 
out exception! ” 

But now Svirski began his conclusions about women. 
from which he had refrained so far. 

* Do you see; do you see? I know German and French 
and especially Italian women. The Italians in general 
have fewer impulses, and less education, but they are hon- 
ester and simpler. May I not finish this macaroni, if I 
have seen anywhere so many false aspirations and such dis- 
cord between natures which are vulgar aud phrases which 
are lofty! If you knew what Panna Ratkovski told me of 
Kopovski! Or take that ‘Poplar,’ that ‘Column,’ that 
‘ Nitechka,’ that Panna Castell, that Lily, is it not? You 
would swear that she was a mimosa, an artist, a sibyl, a 
golden-haired tall ideal. And here she is for you! She 
has shown herself! She has chosen, not a living person, 
but a lay-figure; not a man, but a puppet. When it came 
to the test, the sibyl turned into a waiting-maid. But I tell 
you that they are all palpitating for fashionable lay-figures. 
May thunderbolts singe them! ” 

Here Svirski extended his giant fist, and wanted to strike 
the table with it; but Pan Stanislav stopped the hand in 
mid-air, and said, — 

“But you will admit that something exceptional has hap- 
pened.” 

Svirski began to dispute, and to maintain that “they 
are all that way,” and that all prefer the measure of a 
tailor to that of Phidias. Gradually, however, he began to 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 573 


regain his balance, and acknowledge that Panna Ratkoyski 
might be an exception. 

“Do you remember when you inquired touching the 
Broniches, I said the ladies are canaille, canaille/ neither 
principles nor character, parvenu souls, nothing more? He 
was a fool, and you know her. God guarded me; for if 
they had known then that I have some stupid old genea- 
logical papers, would n’t they have made sweet faces at me, 
and I might have fixed myself nicely! May the woods 
cover me! I will go, as you see me, with Pan lgnas abroad, 
for I have enough of this.” 

They paid, and went out on to the street. 

“ What will you do now ?” inquired Svirski. 

“T shall go to look for Pan Ignas.” 

“ Where will you find him ? ” 

“T think among the insane, with his father; if not, I 
will wait for him at my own house.” 

But Pan Ignas was approaching the restaurant just at 
that moment. Svirski was the first to see him at a 
distance. 

“ Ah, there he goes!” 

Where?” 

“On the other side of the street. I should know him a 
verst away by his jaw. Will you tell him everything? If 
so, I will go. You have no need of spectators.” 

“Very well.” 

Pan Ignas, on seeing them, hurried his steps and stood 
before them, dressed elegantly, almost to a fit, and with a 
glad face. 

““My father is better,” said he, with a voice panting a 
little; “I have time and will drop in at Prytuloy to-day.” 

But Svirski, pressing his hand firmly, went off in silence. 
The young man looked after him with surprise. 

‘Was Pan Svirski offended at anything?” asked he, 
looking at Pan Stanislav; and he noticed then that his face 
too had aserious, almost stern, expression. 

‘What does this mean?” asked he, ‘or what has 
happened ?” 

Pan Stanislav took him by the hand, and said, with a 
voice full of emotion and cordiality, — 

“My dear Pan Ignas, I have esteemed you always, not 
only for exceptional gifts, but for exceptional character; I 
have to announce very bad news to you, but Iam sure that 

ou will find in yourself strength enough, and will not give 
way to the misfortune.” 


574 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“ What has happened?” asked Pan Ignas, whose face 
changed in one moment. 

Pan Stanislav beckoned to a droshky, and said, — 

“Take a seat. ‘To the bridge!” cried he, turning to 
the driver. Then, taking out Osnovski’s letter, he gave it 
to Pan Ignas. 

The young man tore open the envelope hurriedly, and 
began to read. 

Pan Stanislay put his arm with great tenderness around 
his friend’s body, not taking his eyes from his face, on which 
as the man read were reflected amazement, incredulity, 
stupefaction, and, above all, terror without limit. His 
cheeks became as white as linen; but it was evident that, 
feeling the misfortune, he did not grasp its extent yet, ana 
did not understand it thoroughly, for he looked at Pan 
Stanislav as if without sense, and inquired with a low voice, 
full of fear, — 

“ How — how could she ?” 

Then, removing his hat, he passed his hand through his 
hair. 

“T do not know what Osnovski has written,” said Pan 
Stanislav, “but it is true. There is no reason to diminish 
the affair. Have courage; say to yourself that this has 
happened, and happened beyond recall. You were lost on 
her, for you are worth more than all that. There are people 
who know your worth, and who love you. I am aware that 
this is a mighty misfortune; your own brother would not 
be pained on your behalf more than Iam. But it has hap- 
pened! My dear Pan Ignas, they have gone, God knows 
whither. The Osnovskis too. There is no one in Prytuloy. 
I understand what must take place in you; but you have a 
better future by yourself than with Panna Castelli. God 
destined you to higher purposes, and surely gave greater 
power to you than to others. You are the salt of the earth. 
You have exceptional duties to yourself and the world. I 
know that it is difficult to wave your hand at once on that 
which has been loved, and I do not ask you to do so; but you 
are not permitted to yield to despair like the first comer. 
My dear, poor Pan Ignas!” 

Pan Stanislav spoke long, and spoke with power, for 
he was moved. In the further course of his speech he 
said things which were not only heartfelt, but wise: that 
misfortune has this in itself, that it stands still; while a 
man, whether he wishes or wishes not, must move on into 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 575 


the future ; therefore he goes away from it ever farther and 
farther. A man drags, it is true, a thread of pain and re- 
membrance behind him; but the thread grows ever more 
slender, for the force of things is such that he lives in the 
morrow. All this was true, but it was something by itself; 
far nearer, more real, more tangible was that which Osnov- 
ski’s letter mentioned. Beyond the fact described in that 
letter there existed only empty sounds, striking on his ears 
externally, but without meaning, and for Pan Ignas as devoid 
of sense as the rattle of the iron lattice-work on the bridge, 
past which he was driving with Pan Stanislav. Pan Ienas 
could feel and think only inan immensely dull way; he had, 
however, the feeling first that what had happened was 
simply impossible, but still: it had happened; second, that 
in no measure could he be reconciled to it, and never would 
he be reconciled, — a fact, however, which had not the least 
significance. There was no place in his head for another 
idea. He was not conscious of having lost anything except 
Lineta. He was not conscious of pain or sorrow or ruin or 
desolation, or the loss of every basis of life; he knew only 
that Lineta had gone, that she had not loved him, that she 
had left him, that she had gone with Kopovski, that the 
marriage was broken, that he was alone, that all this had 
happened, and that he did not want it,—as a thing in- 
credible, impossible, and dreadful. Still, it had happened. 
The droshky moved slowly beyond the bridge, for they 
were passing through a herd of oxen driven toward the 
city ; and in the midst of the heavy tramping of these beasts, 
Pan Stanislav continued. Pan Ignas’s ears were struck by 
the words, ‘“‘Svirski, abroad, Italy, art;” but he did not 
anderstand that Svirski meant an acquaintance, abroad a 
journey, Italy a country. Now, he was talking to Lineta: 
“That is all well,” said he; “but what will become of me ? 
How couldst thou forget that I love thee so immensely ?” 
And for a time it seemed to him that if he could see her, 
if he could tell her that one must think of the suffering of 
people, she would fall to weeping and throw herself on his 
neck. “And so many things unite us,” said he to her; 
“besides, I am the same, thine.” And suddenly his jaw 
protruded; it began to tremble; the veins swelled in his 
forehead, and his eyes were filled with a mist of tears. Pan 
Stanislav, who had an uncommonly kind heart, and who 
thought, besides, that he might touch his feelings, put his 
arm around his neck suddenly, and, being affected himself, 


576 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


began to kiss him on the cheek. But Pan Ignas’s emotion 
did not continue ; he returned to the feeling of reality. “I 
will not tell her that,” thought he, “for I shall not see her, 
since she has gone with her betrothed, — with Kopovski.” 
And at that thought his face became rigid again. He began 
then to take in effectively the whole extent of the misfortune. 
The thought struck him for the first time that if Lineta had 
died, his loss would have been less. The gulf caused by 
death leaves to believers the hope of a common life on the 
other shore; to unbelievers, a common nothingness; 
hence, to some the hope of a union, to others a common 
fate. Death is powerless against love which passes beyond 
the grave; death may wrest a dear soul from us, but cannot 
prevent us from loving it, and eannot degrade it. On the 
contrary, death makes that soul sacred; makes it not only 
beloved, but holy. Lineta, in taking from Pan Ignas her- 
self,— that is, his most precious soul,— took from him at once 
the right of loving and grieving and yearning and honor- 
ing; by going herself, she left a memory behind her which 
was ruined in full measure. Now Pan Ignas felt clearly 
that if he should not be able to cease loving her, he would 
thereby become abject ; and he felt that he would not be 
able to cease loving. Only in that moment did he see the 
whole greatness of his wreck, ruin, and suffering. In that 
moment he understood that it was more than he could bear. 

“Go with Svirski to Italy,” said Pan Stanislav. “Suffer 
out the pain, my dear friend; endure till itis over. You 
cannot do otherwise. The world is wide! There is so much 
to see, so much to love. Everything is open before thee; 
and before no one as before thee. Much is due to the 
world from thee; but much also to thee from the world. 
Go, my dear. Life is around thee; life is everywhere. 
New impressions will come; thou wilt not resist them ; they 
will occupy thy thought, soften thy pain. Thou wilt not be 
circling around one existence. Svirski will show thee 
Italy. Thou wilt see what a comrade he is, and what 
horizons he will open. Besides, I tell thee that a man such 
as thou art, should have that power which the pearl oyster 
has, of turning everything into pearl simply. Listen to 
what thy true friend says. Go, and go at once. Promise 
me that thou wilt go. God grant my wife to pass her ill- 
ness safely; then we may journey there also in spring. 
Thou wilt see how beautiful it will be for us. Well, Ignas, 
promise me. Dost thou say yes?” ~— 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 577 


“Yes,” answered Pan Ignas, hearing the last word, but 
not knowing in general what the question was. 

“Well, now, praise God,” replied Pan Stanislav, “Let us 
return to the city, and spend the evening together, I have 
something to do in the counting-house, and I have left home 
for two days.” 

Then he gave command to turn back, for the sun was 
toward setting. It was a beautiful day, of those which 
come at the end of summer. Over the city a golden, delicate 
dust was borne; the roofs, and especially the church towers, 
gleamed at the edges, as it were with the reflection of am- 
ber, and, outlined clearly in the transparent air, seemed to 
delight in it. The two men rode for some time in silence. 

“Wilt thou go to my house, or to thy own lodgings ?” 
asked Pan Stanislav, when they entered the city, 

The city movement seemed to calm Pan Ignas, for he 
looked at Pan Stanislav with perfect presence of mind, and 
said, — 

“T have not been at home since yesterday, for I spent 
the night with my father. Perhaps there are letters for 
me; let us drive to my lodgings.” 

‘And he foresaw correctly, for at his lodgings a letter 
from Pani Bronich in Berlin was awaiting him. He tore 
open the envelope feverishly, and began to read; Pan 
Stanislav, looking at his changing face, thought, — 

“It is evident that some hope is hidden yet in him.” 

Here he remembered all at once that young doctor, who 
in his time said of Panna Kraslavski, “I know what she 

“is, but I cannot tear my soul from her.” 

Pan Ignas finished reading, and, resting his head on his 
hand, looked without thought on the table and the papers 
lying on it. At last he recovered, and gave the letter to 
Pan Stanislav. 

“ Read,” said he. 

Pan Stanislav took the letter and read as follows : — 


““T know that you believed really in your feeling for Nitechka, 
and that at the first moment what has happened will seem to you a 
misfortune ; believe me, too, that to me and to her it was not easy to 
resolve on the decisive step. Perhaps you will not be able to esti- 
mate Nitechka well, — there are so many things which men cannot 
estimate; but you ought to know her at least enongh to know how 
much it costs her when she is forced to cause the slightest pain, 
even to a stranger. But what can we do! such is the will of God, 
which it would be a sin not to obey. We both act as our con- 

37 


578 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


sciences dictate ; and Nitechka is too just to give her hand to you 
without a real attachment. What has taken place, has taken place 
not only in conformity with the will of God, but in conformity with 
your good and hers ; for if, without loving you sufficiently, she had 
become your wife, how would she be able to resist the temptations to 
which such a being would with certainty be exposed in view of the 
corruption of society? Besides, you have your talent; therefore you 
have something. Nitechka has only her heart, which violence would 
break inone moment ; and if it seems to you that she has disappointed 
you, think conscientiously whose fault is the greater? You have 
done much harm to Nitechka, for you fettered her will, and you did 
not let her follow the uatural impulse of her heart; and by thus doing 
you sacrificed, or were ready to sacrifice, through your selfishness, 
her happiness, and even her life, for | am convinced that under suck 
conditions she would not have survived a single year. Nevertheless 
may God forgive you as we forgive; and be it known to you that 
this very day we prayed for you at a Mass ordered purposely for 
your intention, in the church of Saint Yadviga. a. 

“You will be pleased to send the ring to Pan Osnovski’s villa; 
your ring, since the Osnovskis had to go abroad too, will reach you 
through the hands of Panna Ratkovski. Once more, may God for- 
give you everything, and keep you in His protection! ” 


“This is something unparalleled!” said Pan Stanislav. 

“Tt is evident that truth may be treated as love is,” said 
Pan Ignas, with a heart-rending sorrow; “but I had not 
supposed that.” 

“Listen to me, Ignas,” said Pan Stanislav, who under 
the impulse of sympathy had begun to say thou to Zavi- 
lovski; “this is not merely a question of thy happiness, 
but of thy dignity. Suffer as much as may please thee; 
but it is thy duty to find strength to show that thou art 
indifferent to all this.’ 

A long silence followed. But Pan Stanislav, remember- 
ing the letter, repeated from time to time, — 

“This passes human understanding.” Finally he turned 
to Pan Ignas, — 

“Svirski is returning to-day from Buchynek, and late in 
the evening he will come to my house. Come thou too. 
We will pass the evening together, and he and thou will 
talk of the journey.” 

“No,” said Pan Ignas; “on my return from Prytulov, I 
was to spend the night with my father, so I must go to 
him. To-morrow morning I will be with you and see Svirski.” 

But he merely said that, for he wanted to be alone. 
Pan Stanislav did not oppose his intention of spending the 





a Slo 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL, 579 


night at the institution, for he judged that occupation near 
the sick man, and care for him, would occupy his mind 
then weariness and need of sleep would come. He deter- 
mined, however, to drive with him to the institution. 

In fact, they took farewell only at the gate. Pan Ignas, 
however, after he had remained a few minutes in the insti- 
tution and inquired of the overseer touching his father, 
went out and returned home by stealth. 

He lighted a candle, read’ Pani Bronich’s letter once 
more, and, covering his face with his hands, began to medi- 
tate. In spite of Osnovski’s letter and in spite of every- 
thing which Pan Stanislav had told him, a certain doubt 
and a certain hope had lingered in his soul, yet he knew 
that all was over; but at moments he had the feeling tha 
that was not reality, but an evil dream. It was only 
Pani Bronich’s letter that had penetrated to that little cor 
ner of his soul which was unwilling to believe, and burned 
out in it the remnant of illusion. So there was no Lineta 
any longer; there was no future, no happiness. Kopoyski 
had all that; for him were left only loneliness, humiliation, 
and a ghastly vacuum. ‘There was left to him also the im- 
pression that if “ Nitechka ” could have snatched from him 
that talent too, of which Pani Bronich made mention, she 
would have snatched it and given it to Kopovski. What 
was he for her in comparison with Kopovski? “I shall 
never really understand this,” thought he; “but it is so.” 
And he began to meditate over this, what was there in him 
so abject that she should sacrifice him thus without mercy, 
without the least consideration, to take less note of him 
than the meanest worm. “ Why does she love Kopoysk: 
and not me, the man to whom she confessed love ?” And 
he recalled how once she had quivered in his arms, when 
after the betrothal he gave her good-night. But now she 
is quivering in Kopovski’s arms in precisely the same 
way. And at this thought he seized his handkerchief and 
squeezed it between his teeth, so as not to scream from 
pain and madness. “What is this? Why has it hap- 
pened?” But there was a time when he, Ignas, did not 
love her; why did she not marry Kopovski at that tame ? 
What motive could she have to trample him without 
need ? 

And again he caught after the letter of Pani Bronich, as 
if hoping to find in it an answer to these terrible questions. 
He read once more the passage about the will of God, and 


580 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


about this, —that he was guilty, that he had done much 
harm to “ Nitechka,” and that she forgave him, and about 
the Mass, which was celebrated for his intention in Saint 
Yadviga’s ; and when he had ended he began to gaze at the 
light, blinking and saying, — 

“ How is that possible ? How have I offended?” And 
suddenly he felt that the understanding of what truth is 
and what falsehood, of what evil is, and what good, and 
what is proper and improper, began to desert him. Lineta 
had gone from him, taken herself from him, taken his 
future, and now one after another all the bases of life were 
gliding away — aud reason and thought and life itself. He 
saw yet that he had always loved this “ Nitechka” of his 
beyond life, and in no way was he able to wish any harm 
to her; but besides that impression, everything which com- 
poses a thinking being was crushed into dust in him, and 
flew apart like dust in that mighty wind of misfortune. 

Still he loved. Lineta became divided for him now into 
the Lineta of to-day and the Lineta of the past. He began 
to call to mind her voice, her face, her bright golden hair, 
her eyes and mouth, her tall form, her hands, and that 
warmth which so many times he had felt from her lips. 
His powerful imagination recreated her almost tangibly ; 
and he saw that not only had he loved his own distant one, 
but he loved her yet, — that is, he yearned for her beyond 
measure, and was suffering beyond measure for the loss of 
her. 

And, recognizing this, he began again to speak to her: 

“ How couldst thou think me able to bear this ?” 

At that moment he had not the least doubt of this either, 
that God knew the position very well. He sat a long time 
more in silence, and the light had burned out half its 
length almost when he came to himself. 

But something uncommon took place in him then. He 
had an impression as if he were going from land in a ship, 
and that seemed to him which seems always on such an 
occasion, that it was not he who was moving away, but the 
shore on which he had dwelt hitherto. Everything — that 
was he, and in general his life; all thoughts, hopes, ambi- 
tions, objects, plans, even love, even Lineta, even his loss; 
and those vicious circles, and those tortures through which 
he had passed — seemed not merely removed from him, but 
foreign, and belonging exclusively to that land off there. 
And gradually they sank, gradually they melted, becoming 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. asl 


ever smaller, ever more visionary, ever more dreamlike ; 
and he went on, he became more distant, feeling that to 
that foreignness he does not wish to return, that he cannot 
return, and that all which is left of him belongs to the 
space which has taken him to itself, and opened its bosom 
before him, immense and mysterious. 


582 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER LVIILI. 


Four days later, on the Assumption of the Most Blessed 
Lady, which was also Marynia’s name’s? day, the Bigiels 
and Svirski went to Buchynek. They didnot find Marynia 
at home, for she was at vespers in the church of Yasmen 
with Pani Emilia. When Pani Bigiel learned this, she 
followed them with the whole crowd of little Bigiels. The 
men, left alone, began to talk of the event of which for a 
number of days the whole city had been talking, — that was 
of the attempted suicide of the poet Zavilovski. 

“JT went to see him to-day three times,” said Bigiel; “but 
Panna Helena’s servants have the order to admit no one 
except the doctors.” 

“As for me,” said Pan Stanislav, “this is the first day 
on which I have not been able to visit him; but during the 
previous days I spent a number of hours with him regu- 
larly. I tell my wife that I am at the counting-house on 
business.” 

“Tell me how it happened,” said Bigiel, who wanted to 
know all the details, so as to consider them’ exactly after- 
ward in his fashion. 

“It happened this way,” said Pan Stanislav. “Ignas 
told me that he was going to the institution, to his father. 
I was glad, for I judged that that would keep him away 
from his thoughts. I took him, however, to the gate, and 
he promised to visit me next day. Meanwhile it turned 
out that he wanted to be rid of me, so as to shoot himself 
undisturbed.” 

“Then you were not the first to find him ? ” 

“No; I suspected nothing of that kind, and I should 
have looked for him next day. Luckily Panna Helena 
came at the mere news that the marriage was broken.” 

“T informed her,” said Svirski, “and she took the matter 
to heart so much that I was astonished. She had a fore-. 
warning, as it were, of what would follow.” 

“She is a wonderful person,” said Pan Stanislav. “TI 
have not been able to learn how it happened; but she found 
him; she saved him; she called in a whole circle of doc- 
tors, and finally gave command to take him to her house.” 


1 Name’s day, day of that saint whose name a given person bears. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 583 


“ But the doctors insist that he will live ? ” 

‘«They know nothing yet definitely. In shooting, he must 
have turned the pistol so that the ball, after passing 
through his forehead, went up and lodged under the skull. 
They found the ball, and extracted it easily enough; but 
whether he will live—and if he lives, whether his mind 
will survive —is unknown. One doctor fears a disturbance 
in his speech; but his life is in question yet.” 

The event, though known generally, and described every 
day in the papers, had made so great an impression that 
silence continued awhile, Svirski, who, with his muscles 
of an athlete, had the sensitiveness of a woman, burst 
forth, — 

“Through such women!” 

But Vaskovski, sitting near, said in a low voice, — 

“ Leave them to the merey of God.” 

“Ts it possible ?” said Bigiel, turning to Pan Stanislav ; 
“and thou hadst no suspicion ?” 

“Tt did not come to my head even that he would shoot 
himself. I saw clearly that he was struggling with his 
feelings. For a while, when we were riding, his chin 
trembled, as if he wished to burst into weeping; but he is 
a brave soul. He restrained himself at once, and to ap- 
pearance was calm. He deceived me mainly by his promise 
to come next day.” 

“Do you know what seems to me?” continued he, after 
a while; “the last drop which overflowed the cup was 
Pani Bronich’s letter. Ignas gave it to me to read. She 
wrote that what had happened was the will of God; that the 
fault was on his side; that he was an egotist; but that 
they were obeying the voice of conscience and justice; that 
they forgave him, and begged God to forgive him too,—in 
a word, unheard of things! I saw that that made a des- 
perate impression on him, and I imagine what must have 
taken place in a man so injured and of such spirit, when 
he saw that in addition to everything else injustice was 
attributed to him; when he understood that it is possible 
for people to set everything at naught and distort it, to 
trample on reason, truth, and the simplest principles of 
justice, and then shield themselves behind the Lord God. 
For that matter I was not concerned; but when I saw the 
eynicism, the want of moral understanding, as God lives, I 
asked myself this question: Am I mad, and are truth and 
honesty mere illusions on earth ?” 


584 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Here Pan Stanislav was so indignant at Pani Bronich’s 
letter that he tugged at his beard feverishly, and Svirski 
said, — 

«“T understand that even a believer may spit upon life in 
such moments.” ; 

Here Vaskovski rubbed his forehead with his hand, and 
then said to himself, — ; 

“Yes; I have seen that kind, too. For there are people 
who believe, not through love, but as it were because athe- 
ism is bankrupt, as it were from despair, who imagine to 
themselves that somewhere, off behind phenomena, there 
is not a merciful Father, who places his hand on every 
unfortunate head, but some kind of He, unapproachable, 
inscrutable, indifferent ; it is all one, in such case, whether 
that He is called the Absolute, or Nirvana. He is only a 
concept, not love. It is impossible to love this He; and 
when misfortune comes, people spit on life.” 

“That is well,’ answered Svirski, testily ; “but mean- 
while Pan Ignas is lying with a broken skull, and they 
have gone to the seashore, and it is pleasant for them.” 

“Whence do you know that it is pleasant for them ?” 
answered Vaskovski. 

“The deuce fire them!” said Svirski. 

“But I say to you that they are unhappy. No one may 
trample on truth and go unpunished. They will talk 
various things into each other, but one thing they will not 
be able to talk into each other, — that is, self-respect; they 
will begin to despise themselves in secret, and at last even 
that attachment which they had for each other will be 
turned into secret dislike. That is inevitable.” 

“The deuce fire them !” repeated Svirski. 

“The mercy of God is for them, not for the good,” con- 
cluded Vaskovski. 

Meanwhile Bigiel talked with Pan Stanislav, admiring 
the kindness and courage of Panna Helena. 

“For there will be a fabulous amount of gossip from 
this,” said he. 

“She does not care for that,” answered Pan Stanislav. 
“She does not count with society, for she wants nothing of 
it. She, too, is a resolute soul. She showed Pan Ignas 
always exceptional attachment, and his act must have 
shocked her tremendously. Do you know the history of 
Ploshovski ? ” 

“JT knew him personally,” said Svirski. “His father 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 585 


was the first man in Rome to predict success to me. Of 
Panna Helena they say, I think, that she was betrothed to 
Ploshovski.” 

“No, she was not; but in her secret heart perhaps she 
loved him greatly. Such was his fortune. It is certain 
that since his death she has become different altogether. 
For a woman so religious as she is, his suicide must in 
truth have been dreadful, for just think, not to be able even 
to pray for a man whom one has loved. And now again 
Pan Ignas! If any one, it is she who is doing everything to 
save him. Yesterday I was there; she came out to me 
barely alive, pale, weary, without having slept. And there 
is some one else to watch with her. Panna Ratkovski told 
me of her, that for four days she had n’t slept one hour, per- 
haps.” 

“Panna Ratkovski?” inquired Svirski, quickly; and he 
began mechanically to seek with his hand in the coat pocket 
where he had her letter. 

He remembered then her words: “J have chosen otherwise, 
and if I shall never be happy, I do not wish at least to 
reproach myself afterwards with insincerity.” “ Now for the 
first time I understand the meaning and real tragedy of 
those words. Now, in spite of all social appearances, with- 
out regard to the tongues of people, this young girl has 
gone to watch over that suicide. What could this mean ? 
The case is clear as the sun. It is true that Kopovski 
went abroad with another; but she had expressed always 
openly what she thought of Kopovski, and if she had cared 
nothing for Pan Ignas, she would not have gone this time 
to watch at his bedside. It seems to me that I am an ass,” 
muttered Svirski. 

But that was not the only conclusion to which he came 
after mature consideration. All at once a yearning for 
Panna Ratkovski took hold of him, and sorrow that that 
had not happened which might have happened, as well as 
immense pity for her. “Thou hast become a poodle again, 
old fellow,” said he to himself, “and it serves thee right! 
A good man would have felt sorrow, but thou didst begin 
to be angry and condemn her for loving a fool and pretend- 
ing to aspiration, and for having a low nature; thou didst 
talk ill of her before Pani Polanyetski and before him ; 
didst do injustice to a kind and unfortunate person, not be- 
cause her refusal pained thee too greatly, but through 
thy own self-love. Served thee right, right! thou art an 


586 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


ass ; thou art not worthy of her; and thou wilt be knocking 
around alone till death, like a mandrill, behind a menagerie 
grating.” 

In these reproaches there was a portion of truth. Svirski 
had not fallen in love decidedly with Panna Ratkovski; but 
her refusal pained him more deeply than he acknowledged, 
and, not being able to master his vexation, he gave way to 
general conclusions about women, citing Panna Ratkovski 
as an example, and to her disadvantage. 

Now he saw the whole vanity of such conclusions. 
“These stupid syntheses have ruined me always,” thought 
he. “Women are individuals like all people; and the 
general concept woman explains nothing whatever. There 
is a Panna Castelli, there is a Pani Osnovski, in whom I 
admit various rascalities, without, however, having proof of 
them; but on the other hand there is a Pani Polanyetski, a 
Pani Bigiel, a Sister Aniela, a Panna Helena, and a Panna 
Stefania. Poor child! and so it serves me right. She 
was there suffering in silence, and I was gnashing my teeth. 
if that girl isn’t worth ten times more than I, then that 
sun isn’t worth my pipe. She had a sacred reason in giv- 
ing a refusal to such a buffalo. I will go to the Orient, 
and that is the end of the matter. Such light as there is in 
Egypt, there is nowhere else on earth. And what an honest 
woman! Moreover, she has done me good, even with her 
refusal, for through her I have convinced myself that my 
theory about women should be broken on the back of a dog. 
But if Panna Helena puts a whole regiment of dragoons be- 
fore her door, I must see that poor girl and say what I 
think to her.” 

In fact, he went on the following morning to Panna Hel- 
ena’s. ‘They did not wish to admit him, but he insisted so 
much that at last he was admitted. Panna Helena, judg- 
ing that friendship and anxiety alone had brought him, 
conducted him even to the chamber in which the wounded 
man was lying. There, in the gloom of fastened blinds, he 
saw Pan Ignas, from whom came the odor of iodine, his 
head bound, his jaw protruding; and with him those two 
wearied out women, the fever of sleeplessness on their 
faces, and really like two shadows. ‘The wounded man lay 
with open lips; he was changed, and resembled himself in 
nothing. He was as if incomparably older; his eyelids 
were swollen, and protruding from under the bandage. 
Svirski had liked him greatly, and with his sensitiveness 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 587 


had not less sympathy for him than had Pan Stanislav and 
Osnovski; he was struck, however, this time by his de- 
formity. “He has fixed himself,” thought he; then, turn- 
ing to Panna Helena, he asked in an undertone, — 

“Has he not regained consciousness ?” 

“No,” answered she, in a whisper. 

“ What does the doctor say ?” 

Panna Helena moved her thin hand in sign that all was 
uncertain yet. 

“This is the fifth day,” whispered she again. 

“‘ And the fever decreases,” said Panna Ratkovski. 

Svirski wished to offer his services in watching the sick 
man; but Panna Helena indicated with her eyes a young 
doctor, whom he was not able to distinguish at once in the 
darkness, but who, sitting in an armchair near the table, 
with a basin and pile of iodine wadding, was dozing from 
weariness, waiting till another should relieve him. 

“We have two,” said Panna Ratkovski, ‘‘and besides 
people from the hospital, who know how to nurse the sick.” 

«But you ladies are wonderfully wearied.” 

“Tt is a question here of the sick man,” answered she, 
looking toward the bed. 

Svirski followed her glance. His eyes were better 
accustomed now to the gloom, and saw distinctly the face, 
motionless, with lips almost black. The long body was 
motionless also, only the fingers of his emaciated hand, 
lying on the coverlet, stirred with a monotonous movye- 
ment, as if scratching. 

“They will take him out in a couple of days, as God is 
in Heaven!” thought he, remembering his colleague, that 
“Slav? with whom Bukatski had disputed in his time, and 
who, when he had shot himself in the head, died only after 
two weeks of torture. 

Wishing, however, to give comfort to the women, he 
said, in spite of that of which he was certain, — 

“ Wounds of this kind are either mortal at once, or are 
cured.” 

Panna Helena made no answer, but her face contracted 
nervously, and her lips grew pale. Evidently there was a 
terrible thought in her soul, that he a/so might die, and she 
did not wish to admit that she had had enough with that 
other suicide, and at the same time it was for her a ques- 
tion of something more than saving his life for Pan Ignas. 

Svirski began to take farewell. He entered with a 


588 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


speech prepared for Panna Ratkovski, to whom he had 
resolved to acknowledge that he had judged her unjustly, 
and to express all the homage which he felt for her, and to 
beg for her friendship ; but in presence of the real tragedy 
of those two women, and of the danger of death, and of 
that half corpse, he saw at once that everything which he 
intended to say would be poor and petty, and that it was 
not the time for such empty and personal matters. 

He merely pressed to his lps in silence the hand of 
Panna Helena, and then that of Panna Ratkovski; and, 
going out of that room filled with misfortune and per- 
meated with iodine, he drew a deep breath. In his artistic 
imagination was represented distinctly the changed Pan 
Ignas, ten years older, with bound head and black lips. 
And in spite of all the sympathy which he had for the man, 
indignation seized him all at once. 

“He made a hole in his skull,” muttered he; “he made 
a hole in his talent, — and does n’t care! and those souls 
there are dragging themselves to death and trembling like 
leaves.” 

Then a feeling, as it were of jealousy, took hold of him, 
as if he were sorry for himself, and he began to speak in a 
monologue, — 

“Well, old man! but if thou, for example, were to pack 
a bit of lead into thy talent, no one would walk at thy bed- 
side on tiptoe.” 

Further meditation was interrupted by Pan Plavitski, 
who, meeting him at the cross-street, stopped him, and 
began conversation, — 

“T am just from Karlsbad,” said he. “O Lord, how 
many elegant women! I am going to Buchynek to-day. I 
have just seen Stanislav, and know that my daughter is 
well; but he has grown thin somehow.” 

“Yes for he has had trouble. Have you heard of Pan 
Ignas ?” 

“T have, I have! But what will you say of that?” 

“A misfortune.” 

“ A misfortune ; but this too, that there are no principles 
at present. All those new ideas, those atheisms of yours, 
and hypnotisms, and socialisms. The young generation 
have no principles, — that is where the trouble lies.” 





ee 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 589 


CHAPTER LIX. 


Pan STANISLAV, under the impression of the catastrophe, 
forgot utterly his promise to inform Osnovski by letter 
how Pan Ignas had borne the rupture of the marriage and 
the departure of Lineta. But Osnovski, having learned 
from the newspapers what had happened, inquired every 
day by telegraph about the condition of the patient, and 
was greatly alarmed. In the press and in public the most 
contradictory accounts were current. Some journals de- 
clared that his condition was hopeless; others predicted a 
speedy recovery. For a long time Pan Stanislav could 
report nothing certain; and only after two weeks did he 
send a despatch that the sick man had ceased to waver 
between death and life, and that. the doctors guaranteed 
his recovery. 

Osnovski answered with a long letter, in which he gave 
various news from Ostend,— 


“God reward you for good news! All danger has passed then 
decisively? I cannot tell you what a weight fell from the hearts of 
both of us. Tell Pan Ignas that not only I, but my wife received 
the news of his recovery with tears. She does not speak of any one 
else now, and thinks only of him. Oh, what women are! volumes 
might be written on this subject ; but Anetka is an exception, and 
will you believe, that in spite of all her terror and sorrow and sym- 
pathy, Ignas has increased in her eyes through this unhappy event? 
They seek romantic sides always; so far does this reach that even in 
Kopovski, as the originator of the misfortune, Anetka, who knows all 
his stupidity, sees now something demonic. But beyond all she 
praises God for the recovery of Ignas. May he live to the glory of 
our society, and may he find a being worthy of him! From your 
despatch, I infer that he is under the care of Panna Helena. May 
God grant her too every blessing for such an honest heart! Really 
she has no one in the world nearer to her than Ignas, and I imagine 
that he is still dearer to her through remembrance of Ploshovyski. 

“ Now, since you have quieted me as to Ignas’s recovery, I can send 
you some news about Aunt Bronich and Lineta. Perhaps you have 
heard that they are here with Kopovski. They went first to 
Scheveningen; but, hearing that the smallpox was there, they 
escaped to Ostend, not supposing that we were here. We met a 
number of times in the Cursaal, but pretended not to know them. 
Kopovski even left cards with us; but we did not return his visit, 


590 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


though, as my wife says justly, he is far less to blame in all this than 
the two women. When I received your despatch, stating that Ignas 
is saved surely, I thought that humanity itself commanded me to 
send the news to them, and I did so. As matters stand, life is un- 
pleasant for them here, since their acquaintances withdraw; so I 
wished them to know at least that they have no human life on 
their consciences, all the more since Lineta, as it would seem, felt the 
deed of Ignas. In fact, they called the same day on us, and my wife 
received them. She says truly that evil is moral sickness, and that 
we should not desert relatives in sickness. In general, this first 
meeting was awkward and painful for both sides. Of Ignas we said 
not a word. Kopoyski appears here as Lineta’s betrothed; but 
they do not seem very happy, though, to tell the truth, she is better 
fitted for him than for Ignas, and in that view at least what has hap- 
pened may be considered God’s work. I know also from persons 
aside that Aunt Bronich mentions it as such. I need not tell 
you how that abuse of the name of God angers me. I know that 
she tried to talk into some acquaintances stopping here that she 
and her niece broke with Ignas because of his want of religious feel- 
ings; to others she told tales of his despotism and of his disagreement 
in temper with Lineta. In all this she deceives not only the world, 
but herself. Aunt, through persuading herself and others of it un- 
seasingly, believes at last in the lofty character of Lineta, and in 
this too she is immensely disappointed. She feels bound really 
to defend her; she invents God knows what in her behalf, and 
struggles like a mad woman; but a feeling of disappointment sticks 
in her, and I[ think that she grieves over it, for she has grown very 
thin. Evidently they value relations with us, which, as “they hope, 
may bring them back to society; but though my wife received them, 
our relations cannot return to their former condition, of course. I, 
first of all, could not permit this, from regard to my duty of choosing 
a proper society for my wife. ‘Lineta’s marriage with Kopovski is 
to be in Paris two months from now. Of course we shall not be 
present. Moreover, my wife looks on the marriage very skeptically. 
T have written thus at ‘length hoping to oblige you to write as much, 
with all details about Tgnas. If his health permits, press his hand 
for me, and tell him that he has and will have in me a most cor- 
dial friend, who is devoted heart and soul to him.” 


Marynia, notwithstanding the lateness of the season, was 
living yet in Buchynek; so that Pan Stanislav, when he 
received this letter in the counting-house, showed it first 
of all to the Bigiels, with whom he dined. 

“T am glad of one thing,” said Pani Bigiel, when she 
had finished the letter; “she will marry that Kopovski 
right away. Otherwise I should be afraid that something 
might spring up again in Ignas, and that after he had 
recovered he might be ready to return to her.” 

‘“‘No; Pan Ignas has much character, and I think that 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 591 


he would not return in any case,” said Bigiel. “What is 
thy thought, Stas?” 

Bigiel was so accustomed to ask the opinion of his part- 
ner in every question, that he could not get on without it 
in this one. 

“I think that they, when they look around on what they 
have done, will be rather ready to return. As to Ignas, | 
have lived so many years, and seen so many improbable 
things, that I will not answer for any one.” 

At that moment these words occurred again to Pan 
Stanislav: “I know what she is, but I cannot tear my soul 
from her.” : 

‘ But wouldst thou return in his place?” inquired Bigiel. 

I think not; but I will not answer for myself even. 
First of all, I shouldn’t have shot myself in the forehead; 
but still, I don’t know even that.” 

And he said this with great discouragement, for he 
thought that if there was any man who had no right to 
answer for himself it was he. 

But Pani Bigiel began, — 

“TI would give I do not know what to see Ignas; but 
really it is easier to take a fortress than to go to him. 
And I cannot understand why Panna Helena keeps him 
from people so, even from such friends as we are.” 

“She keeps him from people because the doctor has 
ordered absolute quiet. Besides, since he has regained 
consciousness, the sight of his nearest friends, even, is ter- 
ribly painful to him; and this we can understand. He 
cannot talk with them about his deed; and he sees that 
every one who approaches him is thinking of nothing else.” 

“But you are there every day.” 

“They admit me because I was connected with the affair 
from the beginning; I was the first to report the rupture 
of the marriage, and I watched him.” 

“Does he mention that girl yet?” 

“T asked Panna Helena and Panna Ratkovski about this; 
they answered, ‘Never.’ I have sat for hours with him alone, 
and have heard nothing. It is wonderful: he is conscious; 
he knows that he is wounded, knows that he is sick; but 
he seems at the same time to remember nothing of past 
events, just as if the past had no existence whatever. The 
doctors say that wounds in the head cause various and 
very peculiar phenomena of this kind. For the rest, he 
recognizes every one who approaches him, exhibits immense 


592 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


gratitude to Panna Helena and Panna Ratkovski. He 
loves Panna Ratkovski especially, and evidently yearns 
for her when she goes for a while from him. but they 
are both, as God lives! —there are no words to tell how 
good they are.” 

‘*Panna Ratkovski moves me especially,” said Pani 
Bigiel. 

Bigiel put in, ‘“ Meditating over everything carefully, I 
have come to the conclusion that she must have fallen in 
love with him.” 

“Thou hast spent time for nothing in meditating,” 
answered Pan Stanislav, “for that is as clear as the sun. 
The poor thing hid this feeling in herself till misfortune 
came. Why did she reject such an offer as Svirski’s? I 
make no secret of this, for Svirski himself tells it on every 
side. It seems to him that he owes her satisfaction because 
he suspected her of being in love with Kopovski. When 
Pan Ignas shot himself, she was living with her relative, 
Pani Melnitski, after the Osnovskis had gone; but when 
she learned that Panna Helena had taken Ignas, she went 
and begged permission to remain with her. All know 
perfectly how to understand this; but she does not mind 
such considerations, just as Panna Helena herself does 
not mind them.” 

Here Pan Stanislav turned to Pani Bigiel, — 

**Panna Ratkovski moves you deeply; but think, as God 
lives, what a tragic figure Panna Helena is. Pan Ignas is 
alive, at least, but Ploshovski aimed better; and, accord- 
ing to her ideas, there is no mercy for him, even in that 
world. But she loves him. There is a position! Finally, 
after such a suicide, comes another; it tears open all 
wounds, freshens every memory. Panna Ratkovski may 
be a touching figure; but the other has her life broken 
forever, and no hope, nothing left but despair.” 

“True, true! But she must be attached to Ignas, since 
she cares for him so.” 

“T understand why she does it; she wants to beg of the 
Lord God mercy for the other man, because she has saved 
Pan Ignas.” 

“That may be,” said Bigiel. “And who knows that Pan 
Ignas may not marry Panna Ratkovski, when he recovers? ” 

“Tf he forgets that other, if he is not broken, and if he 
recovers.” 

“ How, if he recovers? Just now thou hast said that his 
recovery is undoubted.” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 593 


“Tt is undoubted that he will live; but the question is, 
will he be the former Ignas? Even though he had not fired 
into his head, it would be difficult to say whether such an 
experience would not break a man who is so sensitive. 
But add a broken head; that must be paid for. Who 
knows what will happen further? but now, for example, 
though he is conscious, though he talks with sense, at 
times he breaks off, and cannot recollect the simplest 
expression. Before, he never hesitated. ‘This, too, is 
strange, —he remembers the names of things well, but 
when it is a question of any act, he stops most generally, 
and either remembers with effort, or forgets altogether.” 

“What does the doctor say?” 

“In God is his hope that it will pass; the doctor does 
not lose hope. But even yesterday, while I was going in, 
Ignas said, ‘Pani—’ and stopped. Evidently he was 
thinking of Marynia, whom he recalled on a sudden, but 
he could not ask about her. Every day he talks more, it 
is true; but before he recovers, much time may pass, and 
certain traces may remain forever.” 

“But does Marynia know of everything?” 

“While there was no certainty that he would live, 1 
kept everything in secret; but after that I thought it better 
to tell her. Of course I was very cautious. It was hard 
to keep the whole matter from her longer. People were 
talking too much about it, and I feared that she might 
hear from people on one side. I told her, moreover, that 
the wound was slight, and that nothing threatened him, 
but that the doctors forbade him visitors. Even thus she 
was greatly affected.” 

“When will you bring her to the city?” 

“While the weather is good, I prefer to keep her in the 
country.” 

Further conversation was interrupted by a letter, which 
the servant gave Pan Stanislav. The letter was from 
Mashko, and contained the following words :— 


«T wish to see thee in thy own interest. I will wait for thee at 
my house till five.” 


“T am curious to know what he wants,” said Pan 
Stanislav. 
“Who is it?” 
“Mashko; he wants to see me.” 
38 


594 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“Business and business,” said Bigiel; “he has business 
above his ears. Sometimes I wonder really whence he gets 
endurance and wit for all this. Dost thou know that Pani 
Kraslavski has come home, and that she has lost her sight 
altogether? She sees nothing now, or what is called noth- 
ing. We visited those ladies before they left their country 
house. Wherever one turns there is misery, so that at last 
pity seizes one while looking.” 

“But in misfortune each man or woman shows his or her 
real nature,” said Pani Bigiel. ‘*‘You remember that we 
considered Pani Mashko as somewhat dry in character, but 
you will not believe how kind she is now to her mother. 
She does not let a servant come near her; she attends her 
herself everywhere, waits on her, reads to her. Really 
she has given me a pleasant surprise, or rather both of 
them, for Pani Kraslavski has lost her former pretentious- 
ness thoroughly. It is pleasant to see how those women 
love each other. It seems that there was something in 
Pani Mashko which we could not discover.” 

“Both, too, were terribly indignant at the behavior of 
Panna Castelli,” added Bigiel. ‘Pani Kraslavski said to 
us, ‘If my Terka had acted in that way, I should have 
denied her, though I am blind, and need care.’ But Pant 
Mashko is as she is, and she would not have acted in that 
way, for she is another kind of woman.” 

Pan Stanislav drank his cup of black coffee, and began to 
take farewell. For some time past every conversation 
about Pani Mashko had become for the man unendurable; 
it seemed to him, moreover, that he was listening again to 
an extract from that strange human comedy which people 
were playing around him, and in which he, too, was play- 
ing his empty part. It did not occur to him that human 
nature is so composed that even in the very worst person 
some good element may be found, and that Pani Mashko 
might be, after all, a loving daughter. In general, he pre- 
ferred not to think of that, but began to halt over the 
question, what could Mashko want of him? Forgetting 
that Mashko had written in the letter that he wanted to 
see him, not in his own, but in his (Pan Stanislav’s) in- 
terest, he supposed, with a certain alarm, that he wanted 
money a second time. 

“But I,” thought he, “will not refuse now.” 

And it occurred to him that life is like the machinery 
of a watch. When something is out of order in one wheel, 





ss 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 595 


all begin to act irregularly. What connection could there 
be between his adventure with Pani Mashko and his busi- 
ness, his money, his mercantile work? And still he felt 
that even as a merchant he had not, at least with refer- 
ence to Mashko, the freedom that he once had. 

But his suppositions proved faulty. Mashko had not 
come to ask money. 

“JT looked for thee in the counting-house, and at thy 
residence,” said he; ‘‘at last I divined that thou must be 
at the Bigiels’, and I sent my letter there. I wished to 
speak with thee on thy own business.” 

‘**How can I serve thee?” asked Pan Stanislav. 

“First of all, I beg that what I say may remain between 
maps” 

“Tt will; I am listening.” 

Mashko looked for a time in silence at Pan Stanislav, 
as if to prepare him by that silence for some important 
announcement; at last he said, with a wonderful calmness, 
weighing out every expression, — 

“T wished to tell thee that I am lost beyond redemption.” 

“Hast lost the will case?” 

“No; the case will come up only two weeks from now 
but I know that I shall lose it.” 

“Whence hast thou that certainty?” 

“Dost remember what I told thee once, that cases against 
wills are won almost always because the attack is more 
energetic than the defence; because usually the overthrow 
of the will concerns some one personally, while maintain- 
ing it doesnot? Everything in the world may be attacked; 
for though a thing be in accordance with the spirit of the 
law, almost always, in a greater degree or less, it fails to 
satisfy the letter, and the courts must hold to the letter.” 

“True. Thou hast said all that.” 

“Well, so it is, too, in this case which I took up. It 
was not so adventurous as may seem. The whole question 
was to break the will; and I should, perhaps, succeed in 
proving certain disagreements in it with the letter of the 
law, were it not that there is a man striving with equal 
energy to prove that there are none such. I will not talk 
long about this; it is enough for thee to know that I have 
to contend not merely with an oppouent who is a lawyer and 
a finished trickster, but a personal enemy, for whom it is 
a question, not only to win the case, but to ruin me. Once 
T slighted him, and now he is taking revenge.” 


596 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“In general, I do not understand why you have to do 
with any one except the State Attorney.” 

“ Because there were legacies to private people in defence 
of which the opposite side employed Sledz, that advocate. 
But let this rest. I must lose the case, for it is in condi- 
tions for being lost; and if I were Sledz, I would win just 
as he wins. I know this in advance, and I do not deceive 
myself. Enough now of this whole matter.” 

“But go on; appeal.” 

“No, my dear triend, I cannot go on.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I have more debts than there are hairs on my 
head; because, after my first defeat, creditors will rush at 
me; and because ” — here Mashko lowered his voice — “I 
must flee.” 

Silence followed. 

Mashko rested his elbow on his knee, his head on his 
palm, and sat some time with his head inclined; but after 
a while he began to speak, as if to himself, without raising 
his head, — 

“Tt is broken. I tied knots desperately, till my hands 
were wearied; strength would have failed any man, still I 
kept knotting. But I cannot knot any longer! God sees 
that I have no more strength left. Everything must have 
its end; and let this finish sometime.” 

Here he drew breath, like a man who is terribly tired; 
then he raised his head, and said, — 

“This, however, is my affair merely, and I have come 
to talk of thy affairs. Listen to me! According to con- 
tract concluded at the sale of ‘Kremen, I was to make pay- 
ments to thy wife after the parcelling of Magyerovka; thou 
hast a few thousand rubles of thy own money with me. I 
was to pay thy father-in-law a life annuity. Now I come 
to tell thee that if not in a week, then in two, I shall go 
abroad as a bankrupt, and thou and they will not see a 
copper.” 

Mashko, while telling all this with the complete bold- 
ness and insolence of a man who no longer has anything to 
lose, looked Pan Stanislav in the eyes, as if seeking for a 
storm. 

But he was deceived most thoroughly. Pan Stanislav’s 
face grew dark for one twinkle of an eye, it is true, as if 
from suppressed anger; but he calmed himself quickly, and 
said, — 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 597 


“T have always expected that this would end so.” 

Mashko, who, knowing with whom he had to deal, sup- 
posed that Pan Stanislav would seize him by the shoulder, 
looked at him with amazement, as if wishing to ask what 
had happened. 

But at that moment Pan Stanislav thought, — 

“If he had wanted to borrow money for the road, I 
could not have refused him.” 

But aloud he said, “Yes; this was to be foreseen.” 

‘*No,” answered Mashko, with the stubbornness of a 
man who will not part with the thought that only a con- 
currence of exceptional circumstances is to blame for every- 
thing. “Thou hast no right to say this. The moment 
before death, I should be ready to repeat that it might 
have gone otherwise.” 

But Pan Stanislav inquired, as if with a shade of 
impatience, — 

“My dear, what dost thou want of me specially?” 

Mashko recovered, and answered, — 

“Nothing. I have come to thee only as to a man whe 
has shown me good-will at all times, and with whom 7 
have contracted a money debt, as well as a debt of grati- 
tude; I have come to confess openly how things stand, and 
also to say to thee: save what is possible, and as much as 
possible.” 

Pan Stanislav set his teeth; he judged that even in that 
irony of life, whose chattering he heard round about him 
continually for some time past, there ought to be a certain 
measure. Meanwhile Mashko’s words about friendship 
and a debt of gratitude seemed to him as simply passing 
that measure. “May the devils take the money and thee 
—if thou would only go!” thought he, in spirit. But 
compressing in himself the wish to utter this audibly, he 
said, — 

“T see no way.” 

“There is only one way,” answered Mashko. “ While it 
is still unknown to people that I must break, while hopes 
are connected with the will case, while my name and sig- 
nature mean something, thou hast a chance to sell thy 
wife’s claim. Thou wilt say to the purchaser that it is 
thy wish to capitalize the whole property, or something of 
that sort. Appearances are easy. A purchaser will be found 
always, especially if thou decide to sell at a certain reduc- 
tion. In view of profit, any Jew will buy. I prefer that 


598 CHILDREN OF THE SOiL. 


any other should lose rather than thou; it is permitted thee 
not to hear what I have told thee of my coming bank- 
ruptcy, and it is permitted thee to hope that I shall win 
the case. Thou canst be sure that he who will buy the 
claim of thee, would sell it to thee, even though he knew 
that it would not be worth a broken copper on the mor- 
row. The world is an exchange; and on the exchange 
most business is transacted on this basis. ‘This is called 
cleverness.” 

“No,” answered Pan Stanislav, “it has a different name. 
Thou hast mentioned Jews; there are certain kinds of busi- 
ness which they describe with one word, ‘schmuzig!’? I 
shall save my wife’s claim in another way.” 

“As may please thee. I, my dear friend, know the 
value of my system; but, seest thou, in spite of all, I said to 
myself that I ought to tell thee this. It is perhaps the honor 
of a bankrupt; but now I cannot have another. It is easy 
for thee to divine how hard it is for me to say this. 
For that matter, I knew in advance that thou wouldst 
refuse; hence with me it was a question only of doing my 
own. And now give me a cup of tea and a glass of cognac, 
for I am barely living.” 

Pan Stanislav rang for the tea and the cognac. 

Mashko continued, — 

‘“‘T must pluck a certain number of people, —there is no 
nelp for that; hence I prefer to pluck indifferent ones 
rather than those who have rendered me service. There 
are positions in which a man must be an opportunist with 
his own conscience.” 

Here Mashko laughed with bitterness. 

“JT did not know of that myself,” continued he; “but 
now new horizons open themselves before me. One is 
learning till death. We bankrupts have a certain point 
of honor too. As to me, I care less for those who would 
have plucked me in a given case than those who are near 
me, and to whom I owe gratitude. This may be the moral- 
ity of Rinaldini, but morality of its own kind.” 

The servant brought in tea now. Mashko, needing to 
strengthen himself evidently, added to his cup an overflow- 
ing glass of cognac, and, cooling the hot tea in that way, 
drank it at a gulp. 

“My dear friend,” said Pan Stanislav, “thou knowest 
the position better than I. All that I could say against 
flight, and in favor of remaining and coming to terms with 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 599 


creditors, thou hast said to thyself of course, therefore I pre- 
fer to ask of something else: Hast thou something to grasp 
with thy hand? Hast thou even money for the road?” 

“T have. Whether a man fails for a hundred thousand, 
or a hundred and ten thousand, is all one; but I thank thee 
for the question.” 

Here Mashko added cognac to a second cup of tea, and 
said, — 

“Do not think that I am beginning to drink from 
despair ; I have not sat down since morning, and I am 
terribly tired. Ah, how much good this has done me ! 
I will say now to thee openly that I have not thrown up 
the game. Thou seest that I have not fired into my fore- 
head. That is a melodrama! that is played out. | know, 
indeed, that everything is ended for me here; but in this 
place I could not sail out anyhow. Here the interests are 
too small simply, and there is no field. ‘Take the west, 
Paris! There men make fortunes ; there they take a somer- 
sault, and rise again. What is to be said in the case if it is 
so? Dost thou know that Hirsh had not, perhaps, three 
hundred frances on leaving this country ? I know, I know! 
from the standpoint of local mustiness and stupidity here, 
this will seem a dream, —the fever of a bankrupt. But 
still, men inferior to me have made millions there, —in- 
ferior to me! Lose or win. But if I come back at any 
time —” 

And evidently the tea and cognac had begun to rouse 
him, for, clinching his fist, he added, — 

“Thou wilt see!” 

“Tf that is not dreaming,” answered Pan Stanislav, with 
still greater impatience than before, “it is the future. But 
now what?” 

“Now,” said Mashko, after a while, “they will count 
me aswindler. No one will think that there are falls and 
falls. I will tell thee, for instance, that I have not taken 
from my wife a single signature, a single surety, and that 
she will have everything which she had before marriage. 
T am going now; and until I am settled she will remain 
here with her mother. I do not know whether you have 
heard that Pani Kraslavski has lost her sight. I cannot 
take them at present, for I am not even sure where I shall 
live, —in Paris perhaps, perhaps in Antwerp. But I hope 
that our separation will not be lasting. They know nothing 


$9? 


yet. See in what the drama is! See what tortures me! 


600 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


And Mashko put his palm on the top of his head, blink- 
ing at the same time, as if from pain in his eyes. 

“ When wilt thou go?” inquired Pan Stanislav. 

“T cannot tell. I will letthee know. Thou hast had the 
evident wish to aid me, and thou mayest, though not in 
money. People will avoid my wife at first; show her, 
then, a little attention; take her under thy protection. 
Is it agreed? Thou hast been really friendly to me, and 
I know that thou art friendly to her.” 

“ As God lives, one might go mad,” thought Pan Stanis- 
lay; but he said aloud, — 

“ Agreed.” 

“JT thank thee from the soul of my heart; and I have 
still a prayer. Thou hast much influence over those two 
ladies. They will believe thy words. Defend me a little 
in the first moments before my wife. Explain to her that 
dishonesty is one thing, and misfortune another. I, as God 
lives, am not such a rogue as people will consider me. 
I might have brought my wife also to ruin, but I have not 
done so. I might have obtained from thee a few thousand 
more rubles; but I preferred not to take them. Thou wilt 
be able to put this before her, and she will believe thee. Is 
it agreed ? ” 

“ Agreed,” rephed Pan Stanislav. 

Mashko covered his head with his hands once more, and 
said, with a face contracted as if from physical pain, — 

“See where real ruin is! See what pains the most!” 

After a while he began to take farewell, thanking Pan 
Stanislav, meanwhile, again for good-will toward his wife, 
and future care of her. 

Pan Stanislav went out with him, sat in a carriage, and 
started for Buchynek. 

On the road he thought of Mashko and his fate; but at 
the same time he repeated to himself, “I too am a bank- 
rupt!” 

AGid that was true. Besides this, for a certain time 
some sort of general uncomprehended alarm had tormented 
him; against this he could not defend himself. Round 
about he saw disappointment, catastrophes, ruin: and 
he could not resist the feeling that all these were for 
him, too, a kind of warning and threat of the future. — 
He proved to himself, it is true, that such fears could not 
be logically justified; but none the less, the fears did not 
cease to stick in the bottom of his soul somewhere, and 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 601 


sometimes he said to himself again, “Why should I be the 
one exception?” Then his heart was straitened with a 
foreboding of misfortune. This was still worse than those 
pins which, without wishing it, people, even the most 
friendly, drove into him by any word, unconsciously. In 
general, his nerves had suffered recently, so that he had 
become almost superstitious. He returned daily to Buchy- 
nek in alarm, lest something bad might have happened in 
the house during his absence. 

This evening, he returned later than usual because of 
Mashko’s call, and drove in about the time when real dark- 
ness had come. Stepping out before the entrance on the 
sandy road, which dulled the sound of the carriage, he 
saw through the window Marynia, Pani Emilia, and the 
professor sitting near a table in the middle of the parlor. 
Marynia was laying out patience, and was evidently ex- 
plaining the play to Pani Emilia, for her head was turned 
toward her, and she had one finger on the cards. At sight 
of her Pan Stanislav thought that which for some time 
he had been repeating mentally, and which filled him at 
once with a feeling of happiness, and with greater anger 
at himself: “She is the purest soul that I have met in 
life.” And with that thought he entered the room. 

“Thou art late to-day,” said Marynia, when he raised 
her hand to his lips with greeting; “but we are waiting for 
thee with supper.” 

‘“ Mashko detained me,’’ answered he. ‘“ What is to be 
heard here?” 

“The same as ever. All happy.” 

“ And how art thou? ” 

“ As well as a fish!” answered she, joyously, giving him 
her forehead for a kiss, 

Then she began to inquire about Pan Ignas. Pan 
Stanislav, after the disagreeable talk with Mashko, breathed 
for the first time more freely. “She is in health, and all 
is right,” thought he, asif in wonder. And really he felt 
well in that bright room, in that great peace, among those 
friendly souls and at the side of that person so good 
and reliable. He felt that everything was there which he 
needed for happiness ; but he felt that he had spoiled that 
happiness of his own will; that he had brought into the 
clear atmosphere of his house the elements of corruption 
and evil, and that he was living under that roof without a 
right. 


602 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER LX. 


In the middle of September such cold days came that 
the Polanyetskis moved from Buchynek to their house in 
the city. Pan Stanislav, before the arrival of his wife, 
had the house aired and ornamented with flowers. It 
seemed to him, it is true, that he had lost the right to 
love her, but he had lost only his former freedom with 
reference to her; but perhaps, just because of this, he be- 
came far more attentive and careful. The right to love no 
one gives, and nothing can take away. It is another case 
when a man has fallen, and in presence of a soul incom- 
parably more noble than his own, feels that he is not 
worthy to love; he loves then with humility, and does not 
dare to call his feeling by its name. What Pan Stanislav 
had lost really was his self-confidence, his commanding 
ways, and his former unceremoniousness in his treatment 
of his wife. At present in his intercourse with her he 
bore himself sometimes as if she were Panna Plavitski, 
and he a suitor not sure of his fate yet. 

Still that uncertainty of his had the aspect of coldness 
st times. Finally, their relation, in spite of Pan Stanis- 
iav’s increased care and efforts, had become more distant 
than hitherto. “I have not the right!” repeated Pan 
Stanislav, at every more lively movement of his heart. 
And Marynia at last observed that they were living now 
somehow differently, but she interpreted this to herself 
variously. 

First, there were guests in the house, before whom, be 
what may, freedom of life must be diminished; second, 
that misfortune had happened to Pan Ignas, —a thing to 
shock “Stas” and earry his mind in another direction ; 
and finally Marynia, accustomed now to various changes in 
his disposition, had ceased also to attach to them as much 
meaning as formerly. 

Having gone through long hours of meditation and sad- 
ness, she came at last to the conviction that in the first 
period, while certain inequalities and bends of character 
are not accommodated into one common line, such vari- 
ous shades and changes in the disposition are inevitable, 








CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 603 


though transient. The sober judgment of Pani Bigiel 
helped her also to the discovery of this truth; she, on a 
time when Marynia began to praise her perfect accord 
with her husband, said, — 

AU! it did n’t come to that at once. At first we loved 
each other as 1t Were more passionately, but we were far less 
fitted for each other; sometimes one pulled in one and the 
other in another direction. But because we both had hon. 
esty and good-will the Lord God saw that and blessed us. 
After the first child all went at once in the best way; and 
this day I would n’t give my old husband for all the treas- 
ures of earth, though he is growing heavy, and when | per- 
suade him to Karlsbad he will not listen to me.” 

“After the first child,’ inquired Marynia, with great 
attention. “Ah! I would have guessed at once that it was 
after the first child.” 

Pani Bigiel began to laugh. 

“ And how amusing he was when our first boy was born ! 
During the first days he said nothing at all; he would only 
raise his spectacles to his forehead and look at him, as at 
some wonder from beyond the sea, and then come to me 
and kiss my hands.” 

The hope of a child was also a reason why Marynia did 
not take this new change in “Stas” to heart too much. 
First, she promised herself to enchant him completely both 
with the child, which she knew in advance would be simply 
phenomenal, and with her own beauty after sickness; and 
second, she judged that it was not permitted her to think 
of herself now, or even exclusively of “Stas.’? She was 
occupied in preparing a place for the coming guest, as well 
in the house, as in her affections. She felt that she must 
infold such a figure not only in swaddling clothes, but in 
love. Hence she accumulated necessary supplies. She 
said to herself at once that life for two living together 
might be changeable; but for three living together it could 
not be anything but happiness and the accomplishment 
of that expected grace and mercy of God. 

In general, she looked at the future with uncommon 
cheerfulness. If, finally, Pan Stanislav was for her in some 
way a different person, more ceremonious, as it were, and 
more distant, he showed such delicacy as he had never 
shown before. The care and anxiety which she saw on his 
face she referred to his feeling for Pan Ignas, for whose life 
there was no fear, it is true, but whose misfortune she felt 


604 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


with a woman s heart, understanding that it might continue 
as long as his life lasted. The knowledge of this gave 
more than one moment of sadness to her, and to the 
Bigiels, and to all to whom Pan Ignas had become near. 

Moreover, soon after the arrival of the Polanyetskis in the 
city, news came all at once from Ostend whicn threatened 
new complications. A certain morning Svirski burst into 
the counting-house like a bomb, and, taking bigiel and 
Pan Stanislav to a separate room, said, with a mien of 
mysteriousness, — 

* Do you know what has happened? Kresovski has just 
been at my studio, and he returned yesterday from Ostend. 
Osnovski has separated from his wife, and broken Kopoyvski’s 
bones for him. <A fabulous scandal! All Ostend is talk- 
ing of nothing else.” 

Both were silent under the impression of the news; at 
last Pan Stanislav said, — 

“That had to come sooner or later. Osnovski was 
blind.” 

“ But I understand nothing,” said Bigiel. 

“An unheard of history!” continued Svirski. “ Who 
could have supposed anything like it ? ” 

“What does Kresovki say ? ” 

“He says that Osnovski made an arrangement one day 
to go with some Englishmen to Blanckenberg to shoot dol- 
phins. Meanwhile he was late at the railroad, or tramway. 
Having an hour’s time before him, he went home again and 
found Kopovskiin his house. You can imagine what he 
must have seen, since a man so mild was carried away, and 
lost his head to that degree that, without thinking of the 
scandal, he pounded Kopovski, so that Kopovski-is in 
bed.”’ 

“He was so much in love with his wife that he might 
have gone mad even, or killed her,” said Bigiel. ‘ What 
a misfortune for the man!” 

“See what women are!” exclaimed Svirski. 

Pan Stanislav was silent. Bigiel, who was very sorry 
for Osnovski, began to walk back and forth in the room. 
At last he stopped before Svirski, and, thrusting his hands 
into his pockets, said, — 

“But still I don’t understand anything.” 

Svirski, not answering directly, said, turning to Pan 
Stanislav, ‘‘You remember what I said of her in Rome, 
when I was painting your wife’s portrait? Old Zavilovski 


a = 


de en ete aed 


—— + 


i 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 605 


called her a crested lark. I understand how just that was; 
for a crested lark has another name, —‘ the soiler 7 \W hat 
a woman! I knew that she was not of high worth bt 
did not suppose that she could go so far —and erith-anua a 
man as Kvupovski! Now I see various things more claarly. 
Kopovski was there all the time, as if courting Panna 
Castelli, then as if courting Panna Ratkovski; and of 
course he and the lady were in agreement, inventing 
appearances together. What a cheery life the fellow had! 
Castelli for dinner, and Pani Osnovski for dessert! Pleasant 
for such a man! Between those two women there must 
have been rivalry; one vying with the other in concessions 
to attract him to herself. You can understand that in such 
a place woman’s self-esteem had small value.” 

“You are perfectly right,” said Pan Stanislav. “ Pani 
Osnovski was always most opposed to the marriage of 
Kopovski to Castelli; and very likely for that reason she 
was so eager to have her marry Pan Ignas. When, in spite 
of everything, Kopovski and Castelli came to an agree- 
ment, she went to extremes to keep Kopovski for herself. 
Their relation is an old story.” 

‘‘T begin to understand a little,” said Bigiel; “but how 
sad this is!” 

“Sad?” said Svirski; “on the contrary. It was cheerful 
for Kopovski. Still, it was not. ‘The beginning of evil 
is pleasant, but the end is bitter.’ There is no reason to 
envy him. Do you know that Osnovski is hardly any 
weaker than I? for, through regard for his wife, he was 
afraid of growing fat, and from morning till evening prac- 
tised every kind of exercise? Oh, how he loved her! what 
a kind man he is! and how sorry I am for him! In him 
that woman had everything, — heart, property, a dog’s 
attachment, —and she trampled on everything. Castelli, 
at least, was not a wife yet.” 

—“ And have they separated really?” 

“So really that she has gone. What a position, when 
a man like Osnovski left her! In truth, the case is a hard 
one.” 

But Bigiel, who liked to take things on the practical 
side, said, “I am curious to know what she will do, for all 
the property is his.” 

“Tf he has not killed her on the spot, he will not let her 
die of hunger, that is certain; he is not a man of that kind. 
Kresovski told me that he remained in Ostend, and that he 


606 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


is going to challenge Kopovski to a duel. But Kopovski 
will not rise out of bed for a week. ‘There will be a duel 
when he recovers. Pani Bronich and Panna Castelli have 
gone away, too, to Paris.” 

“ And the marriage with Kopovski?” 

“What do you wish? In view of such open infidelity, 
it is broken, of course. Evil does not prosper; they, too, 
were left in the lurch. Ha! let them hunt abroad for 
some Prince Crapulescu’— for after what they have done 
to Ignas, no one in this country would take Castelli, save a 
swindler, or an idiot. Pan Ignas will not return to her.” 

‘**T told Pan Stanislav that, too,” said Bigiel; “but he 
answered, ‘ Who knows?’ ” 

“Ai!” said Svirski, “do you suppose really?” 

“JT don’t know! I don’t know anything!” answered 
Pan Stanislav, with an outburst. “I guarantee nothing; 
I guarantee nobody; I don’t guarantee myself even.” 

Svirski looked at him with a certain astonishment. 

“Ha! maybe that is right,” said he, after a while. “If 
any one had told me yesterday that the Osnovskis would 
ever separate, I should have looked on hiri as a madman.” 

And he rose to take farewell; he was in a hurry to 
work, but wishing to hear more about the catastrophe of 
the Osnovskis, had engaged to dine with Kresovski. Bigiel 
and Pan Stanislav remained alone. 

“Evil must always pay the penalty,” said Bigiel, after 
some thought. ‘But do you know what sets me thinking? 
that the moral level is lowering among us. Take such 
persons as Bronich, Castelli, Pani Osnovski, —how dis- 
honest they are! how spoiled! and, in addition, how 
stupid! What a mixture, deuce knows of what! what 
boundless pretensions! and with those pretensions the 
nature of a waiting-maid. So that it brings nausea to 
think of them, does it not? And men, such as Ignas and 
Osnovski, must pay for them.” 

“And that logic is not understood,” answered Pan 
Stanislav, gloomily. 

Bigiel began to walk up and down in the room again, 
clicking his tongue and shaking his head; all at once he 
stopped before Pan Stanislav with a radiant face, and, slap- 
ping him on the shoulder, said, — 


1 A fanciful Roumanian name formed from the French crapule, a 
debauchee. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 607 


“Well, my old man, thou and I can say to ourselves that 
we drew great prizes in life’s lottery. 
either; but perhaps the Lord God gave us luck because we 
have not undermined other men’s houses like bandits.” 

Pan Stanislav gave no answer; he merely made ready to eo 

Conditions had so arranged themselves lately that every. 
thing which took place around him, and everythine 


We were not saints 


which 


he heard, became, as it were, a saw, which was tearing his 
nerves. In addition, he had the feeling that that was not 


only terribly torturing and painful, but was beginning to 
be ridiculous also. At moments it came to his head to 
take Marynia and hide with her somewhere in some tumble- 
down village, if only far away from that insufferable 
comedy of life which was growing viler and viler. But 
he saw that he could not do that, even for this reason, 

that Marynia’s condition hindered it. He stopped, how- 
ever, the bargaining for Buchynek, which had been almost 
finished, so as to find for himself a more distant and less 
accessible summer place. In general, relations with people 
began to weigh on him greatly; but he felt that he was in 
the vortex, and could not get out of it. Sometimes the 
former man rose in him, full of energy and freshness, and 
he asked himself with wonder, “ What the devil! why does 
a fault which thousands of men commit daily, swell up in 
my case beyond every measure?” But the sense of truth 
answered straightway that as in medicine there are no 
diseases, only patients, so in the moral world there are no 
offences, only offenders. What one man bears easily, 
another pays for with his life; and he tried in vain to 
defend himself. For aman of principles, for a man who, 
barely half a year before, had married such a woman as 
Marynia, for a man whom fatherhood was awaiting, his 
offence was beyond measure; and it was so inexcusable, 
so unheard of, that at times he was amazed that he could 
have committed it. Now, while returning home under the 
impression of Osnovski’s misfortune, and turning it over 
in his head in every way, he had again the feeling as if a 
part of the responsibility for what had happened weighed 
on him. “For I,” said he to himself, “am a shareholder 
in that factory in which are formed such relations and such 
women as Castelli or Pani Osnovski.” Then it occurred to 
him that Bigiel was right in saying that the moral level 
was lowering, and that the general state of mind which 
does not exclude the possibility of such acts is simply 


608 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 

dangerous. For he understood that all these deviations 
flowed neither from exceptional misfortunes, nor uncom- 
mon passions, nor over-turbulent natures, but from social 
wantonness, and that the name of such deviations is legion. 
**See,” thought he, “only in the circle of my acquaintances, 
Pani Mashko, Pani Osnovski, Panna Castelli; and over 
against them whom shall I place? My Marynia alone.” 
And at that moment it did not occur to him that, besides 
Marynia, there were in his circle Pani Emilia, Pani Bigiel, 
Panna Helena, and Panna Ratkovski. But Marynia stood 
out before him on that ground of corruption and frivolity 
so unlike them, so pure and reliable, that he was moved to 
the depth of his soul by the mere thought of her. “That 
is another world; that is another kind,” thought he. For 
a moment he remembered that Osnovski, too, had ealled 
his own wife an exception; but he rejected this evil thought 
immediately. ‘“Osnovski deceived himself, but I do not 
deceive myself.” And he felt that the skepticism which 
would not yield before Marynia would be not only stupid, 
but pitiable. In her there was simply no place for evil. 
Only swamp birds can sit in a swamp. He himself had 
said once in a jest to her, that if she wore heels, she would 
have inflammation of the conscience from remorse, because 
she was deceiving people. And there was truth in this 
jest; he saw her now just there before him as clearly as 
one always sees the person one thinks of with concentrated 
feeling. He saw her changed form and changed face, in 
which there remained always, however, that same shapely 
mouth, a little too wide, and those same clear eyes; and he 
was more and more moved. “Indeed, I did win a great prize 
in life’s lottery,” thought he; “but I did not know how to 
value it. ‘ Evil must always pay the penalty,’ said Bigiel.” 
And Pan Stanislav, to whom a similar thought had come 
more than once, felt now a superstitious fear before it. 
“There is,” thought he, “acertain logic, in virtue of which 
evil returns, like a wave hurled from the shore, so that evil 
must return to me.” And all at once it seemed to him per- 
tectly impossible that he could possess such a woman in 
peace, and such happiness. Just in that was lacking the 
logie which commands the return of the wave of evil. And 
then what? Marynia may die at childbirth, for instance. 
Pani Mashko, through revenge, may say some word about 
him, which will stick in Marynia’s mind, and in view of 
her condition, will emerge afterward in the form of a fever. 





fi 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIn.. 609 


Not even the whole truth is needed for that effect 
contrary, Pani Mashko may boast even that she 
his attempts. ‘And who knows,” said Pan Stanislav to 
himself, “if Pani Mashko is not making a visit to Marynia 
this moment? in such an event the first conversation abou 
men — and a few jesting words are sufficicnt,” 

Thinking thus, he felt that the cap was burning on his 
head; and he reached howe with a feeling of alarm. At 
home he did not find Pani Mashko; but Marynia gave him 
a card from Panna Helena, asking him to come after dinner 
to see her. 

“I fear that Ignas is worse,” said Marynia. 

No; I ran in there for a moment in the morning. 
Panna Helena was at some conference with the attorney, 
Kononovich; but I saw Panna Ratkovski and Pan Tena 
He was perfectly well, and spoke to me joyously.” 

At dinner Pan Stanislav resolved to tell Marynia of the 
news which he had heard, for he knew that it could not be 
concealed from her anyhow, and he did not wish that it 
should be brought to her too suddenly and incautiously. 

When she asked what was to be heard in the counting- 
house and the city, he said, — 

“ Nothing new in the counting-house; but in the city they 
are talking about certain misunderstandings between the 
Osnovskis.” 

“Between the Osnovskis? ” 

“Yes; something has happened in Ostend. Likely the 
cause of all is Kopovski.” 

Marynia flushed from curiosity, and asked, — 

“What dost thou say, Stas?” 

“T say what I heard. Thou wilt remember my remarks 
on the evening of Pan Ignas’s betrothal? It seems that I 
was right; I will say, in brief, that there was a certain 
history, and, in general, that it was bad.” 

“But thou hast said that Kopovski is the betrothed of 
Panna Castelli.” 

“He has been, but he is not now. Everything may be 
broken in their case.” 

The news made a great impression on Marynia; she 
wanted to inquire further, but when Pan Stanislav told 
her that he knew nothing more, and that in all likelihood 
more detailed news would come in some days, she fell to 
lamenting the fate of Osnovski, whom she had always 
liked much, and was indignant at Pani Aneta. 

39 


On the 
she resisted 


about 


gnas. 


610 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“T thought,” said she, “that he would change her, and 
attract her by his love; but she is not worthy of him, and 
Pan Svirski is right in what he says about women.” 

The conversation was interrupted by Plavitski, who, 
after an early dinner at the restaurant, had come to tell 
the “great news,” which he had just heard, for all the city 
was talking of it. Pan Stanislav thought then that he 
had done well to prepare Marynia, for in Plavitski’s nar- 
rative the affair took on colors which were too glaring. 
Plavitski mentioned, it is true, in the course of his story, 
“principles and matrons” of the old time; but apparently 
he was satisfied that something of such rousing interest 
had happened, and evidently he took the affair, too, from 
the comic side, for at the end he said, — 

“But she is a mettlesome woman! she is a frolicker! 
Whoever was before her was an opponent! She let no man 
pass, no man! Poor Osnosio! but she let xo man pass.” 

Here he raised his brows, and looked at Marynia and 
Pan Stanislav, as if wishing to see whether they understood 
what “no man” meant. But on Marynia’s face disgust 
was depicted. 

“Fe! Stas,” said she, “how all that is not only dis- 
honorable, but disgusting!” 





—— ee 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 611 


CHAPTER LXI. 


AFTER dinner Pan Stanislav went to Panna Helena’s. 
Pan Ignas wore a black bandage on his forehead yet, with a 
wider plaster in the centre, covering a wound; he stuttered, 
and, when looking, squinted somewhat; but, in general, he 
was coming to himself more and more, and looked on him- 
self as recovered already. The doctor asserted that those 
marks which remained from the wound yet were dis- 
appearing without a trace. When Pan Stanislav entered, 
the young man was sitting at a table in a deep armchair, 
in which old Pan Zavilovski used to sit formerly, and was 
listening with closed eyes to verses which Panna Ratkovski 
was reading. But she closed the book at sight of a visitor. 

“Good-evening,” said Pan Stanislav to her. “ How art 
thou, Ignas? I see that I have interrupted a reading. In 
what are you so interested? ” 

Panna Ratkovski turned her closely-clipped head to the 
book, — her hair had been luxuriant before, but she cut it 
so as not to occupy time needed for the sick man,—and 
answered, — 

“This is Pan Zavilovski’s poetry.” 

“Thou art listening to thy own poetry?” said Pan 
Stanislav, laughing. “Well, how does it please thee?” 

“T hear it as if it were not my own,” replied Pan Ignas. 
After a while he added, speaking slowly, and stuttering a 
little, “But I shall write again as soon as I recover.” 

It was evident that this thought occupied him greatly, 
and that he must have mentioned it more than once; for 
Panna Ratkovski, as if wishing to give him pleasure, 
said, — 

‘“‘And the same kind of beautiful verses, and not too 
long.” 

He smiled at her with gratitude, and was silent. But 
at that moment Panna Helena entered the room, and press- 
ing Pan Stanislav’s hand, said, — 

‘How well it is that you have come! I wanted to take 
counsel with you.” 

“T am at your service.” 

“T beg you to come to my room.” 


612 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


She conducted him to the adjoining room, indicated a 
chair to him, then, sitting down opposite, was silent, as if 
collecting her thoughts. 

Pan Stanislav, looking at her under the lamp, noticed, 
for the first time, a number of silvery threads in her bright 
hair, and remembered that that woman was not thirty yet. 

She began to speak in her cool and decisive voice, — 

“T do not request counsel precisely, but assistance for 
my relative. I know that you are a real friend of his, and, 
besides, you have shown me so much kindness at the death 
of my father that I shall be grateful the rest of my life 
for it; and now I will speak more openly with you than 
with any one else. For personal reasons, which I will not 
touch, and of which I can only say that they are very 
painful, I have decided to create for myself other con- 
ditions of life, — conditions for me more endurable. I 
should have done so long since, but while my father was 
living I could not. Then Ignas’s misfortune came. It 
seemed to me my duty not to desert the last relative bear- 
ing our name, for whom, besides, I have a heartfelt and 
real friendship. But now, thanks be to God! he is saved. 
The doctors answer for his life; and if God has given him 
exceptional capacities and predestined him to great things, 
nothing stands in the way of his activity.” 

Here she stopped, as if she had fallen to thinking 
suddenly of something in the future, after which, when she 
had roused herself, she spoke on, — 

“ But by his recovery my last task is finished, and I am per- 
mitted to return to my original plan. There remains only 
the property of which my father left a considerable amount, 
and which would be altogether useless to me in my coming 
mode of life. If I could consider this property my own 
personally, I might dispose of it otherwise, perhaps ; but 
since it is family property, I consider that I have no right 
to devote it to foreign objects while any one of the family 
is alive who bears the name. I do not conceal from you 
that attachment to my cousin moves me; but I judge that 
I do above all that which conscience commands, and besides 
carry out the wish of my father, who did not succeed in 
writing his will, but who—TI know with all certainty — 
wished to leave a part of his property to Ignas. I have 
provided for myself not in the degree which my father 
thought of doing, but still I take more than I need. Ignas 
inherits the rest. The act of conveyance has been written 





ag a a 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 613 
by Pan Kononovich according to all legal rules. It includes 
this house, Yasmen, the property in Kutno, the estates in 
Poznan and the moneys with the exception of that portion 
which I have retained for myself, and a small part which I 
have reserved for Panna Ratkovski. It is a question now 
only of delivering this document to Ignas. I have asked two 
doctors if it is not too early, and if the excitement might 
not harm him. ‘They assure me that it is not too early, and 
that every agreeable news may only act on his health bene- 
ficially. This being the case, I wish to finish the matter at 
once, for I am in a hurry.” 

Here she smiled faintly. Pan Stanislav, pressing her hand, 
asked, with unfeigned emotion, — 

“ Dear lady, I do not inquire through curiosity, What do 
you intend ? ” 

Not wishing evidently to give an explicit answer, she 
said, — 

“ A person has the right always to take refuge under the 
care of God. As to Ignas, he has an honest heart and a 
noble character, which will not be injured by wealth; but 
the property is very considerable, and he is young, inex- 
perienced; he will begin life in conditions changed altogether, 
— hence I wish to ask you, as a man of honor and his friend, 
to have guardianship over him. Care for him, keep him 
from evil people, but above all remind him that his duty 
is to write and work further. For me it was a question, 
not only of saving his life, but his gifts. Let him write; 
let him pay society, not for himself only, but for those too 
whom God created for His own glory and the assistance of 
men, but who destroyed both themselves and their gifts.” 

Here her lips became pale on a sudden, her hands closed, 
and the voice stopped in her throat. It might seem that 
the despair accumulated in her soul would break all bounds 
immediately ; but she mastered herself after a while, and 
only her clinched hands testified what the effort was which 
that action had cost her. 

Pan Stanislav, seeing her suffering, judged that it would 
be better to turn her thought in another direction, toward 
practical and current affairs ; hence he said,— _ 

“ Evidently this will be an unheard of change in the life 
of Ignas; but I too hope that it will result only in good. 
Knowing him, it is difficult to admit another issue. But 
could you not defer the act for a year, or at least half a 
year?” 


614 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


MV 2? 

“For reasons which do not lie in Ignas himself, but 
which might have connection with him. I do not know 
whether the news has reached you that the marriage of 
Panna Castelli to Kopovski is broken, and that the posi- 
tion of those ladies is tremendously awkward in con- 
sequence. Through breaking with Ignas, they have made 
public opinion indignant, and now their names are on 
people’s tongues again. It would be for them a perfect 
escape to return to Ignas; and it is possible to suppose that 
when they learn of your gift, they will surely attempt this, 
and it is unknown whether Ignas, especially after so short 
an interval, and weakened as he is, might not let himself 
be involved by them.” : 

Panna Helena looked at Pan Stanislav with brows con- 
tracted from attention, and, dwelling on what he said, she 
answered, — 

“No. I judge that Ignas will choose otherwise.” 

“T divine your thought,” said Pan Stanislav ; “ but think, 
— he was attached to that other one beyond every estimate, 
to such a degree that he did not wish to outlive the loss of 
her.” 

Here something happened which Pan Stanislav had not 
expected, for Panna Helena, who had always such control 
of herself and was almost stern, opened her thin arms in 
helplessness, and said, — 

“Ah, if that were true, —if there were not for him any 
other happiness save in her! Oh, Pan Polanyetski, I knew 
that he ought not to do that; but there are things stronger 
than man, and they are things which he needs for life 
absolutely — and besides — ” 

Pan Stanislav looked at her with astonishment; after a 
while she added, — 

“Besides, while one lives, one may enter on a better 
road any moment.” 

“T did not suppose that I should hear anything like this 
from her,” thought Pan Stanislav. And he said aloud, — 

“Then Jet us go to Ignas.” 

Pan Ignas received the news first with amazement, and 
then with delight; but that delight was as if external. It 
might be supposed that, by the aid of his brain, he under- 
stood that something immensely favorable had met him, 
and that he had told himself that he must be pleased with 
it, but that he did not feel it with his heart. His heart 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 615 


declared itself only in the care and interest with which he 
asked Panna Helena what she intended to do With herself 
and what would become of her. She was not willing to 
answer him, and stated, in general terms, that she would 
withdraw from the world, and that her resolye was un- 
changeable. She implored of him this, which clearly con- 
cerned her most, not to waste his powers and disappoint 
people who were attached to him. She spoke as a mother 
and he, repeating, “I will write again the moment | re. 
- cover,” kissed her hands and had tears in his eyes. It 

was not known, however, whether those tears meant svm- 
pathy for her, or the regret of a child abandoned by a good 
and kind nurse; for Panna Helena told him that from that 
moment she considered herself a guest in his house, and in 
two days would withdraw. Pan Ignas would not agree to 
this, and extorted the promise from her to remain a week 
longer. She yielded at last, through fear of exciting him 
and injuring his health. Then he grew calm, and was as 
gladsome as a little boy whose prayer has been granted. 
Toward the end of the evening, however, he grew thought- 
ful, as if remembering something, looked around with aston- 
ished eyes on those present, and said, — 

“Tt is wonderful, but it seems to me as if all this had 
happened before some time.” 

Pan Stanislav, wishing to give a more cheerful tone to 
the conversation, asked, laughing, — 

“Was it during previous existences on other planets ? 
It was, was it not?” 

“In that way everything might have happened some 
other timé,” said Pan Ignas. 

«And you have written the very same verses already — 
on the moon?” 

He took up a book lying on the table, looked at it, grew 
thoughtful, and said at last, — 

“T will write again, but when I recover completely.” 

Pan Stanislav took farewell and went out. That evening 
Panna Ratkovski removed to her little chamber at Pani 
Melnitski’s. 


616 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER LXII. 


Tue separation of the Osnovskis, who in social life occu- 
pied a position rather prominent, and the great fortune 
which fell on a sudden to Pan Ignas, were the items of news 
with which the whole city was occupied. People who supposed 
that Panna Helena had taken the young man to her house 
to marry him were stunned from amazement. New gossip 
and new suppositions rose. People began to whisper that 
Pan Ignas was a son of old Zavilovski; that he had threat- 
ened his sister with a law-suit for concealing the will; that 
she chose to renounce all and go abroad rather than be 
exposed to a scandalous law-suit. Others declared that the 
cause of her departure was Panna Ratkovski; that between 
those two young ladies scenes had taken place unpar- 
alleled, —scenes to arouse indignation. In consequence of 
this, self-respecting houses would not permit Panna Rat- 
kovski to cross their thresholds. There were others, too, 
who, appearing in the name of public good, refused simply 
to Panna Helena the right of disposing of property in that 
fashion, giving at the same time to understand that they 
would have acted more in accord with public benefit. 

In a word, everything was said that gossip and meddling 
and frivolity and low malice could invent. Soon new food 
for public curiosity arrived under the form of news of a 
duel between Osnovski and Kopovski, in which Osnovski 
was wounded. Kopovski returned to Warsaw soon after 
with the fame of a hero of uncommon adventures in love 
and arms, — stupider than ever, but also more beautiful, 
and in general so charming that at sight of him hearts 
young and old began to beat with quickened throb. 

Osnovski, wounded rather slightly, was under treatment 
in Brussels. Svirski received from him a_ brief an- 
nouncement soon after the duel, that he was well, that in 
the middle of winter he would go to Egypt, but, before 
that, would return to Prytulov. The artist came to Pan 
Stanislav with this news, expressing at the same time the 
fear that Osnovski was returning only to avenge his wrongs 
afresh on Kopovski. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. OlT 


“For I am sure,” said he, “that if he is wounded, it is 
because he permitted it. According to me, he wished to 
die simply. I have shot with him more than once at 
Brufini’s, and know how he shoots. I have seen him hit 
matches, and am convinced that had he wished to blow 
out Koposio, we should n’t see him to-day.” 

“Perhaps not,” answered Pan Stanislav; “but since he 
talks of going to Egypt, ’tis clear that he does not intend 
to let himself be killed. Let him go, and let him take Pan 
Ignas.” 

“Tt is true that Pan Ignas ought to see the world a little. 
I should like to go from here to see him. How is he ?” 

“T will go with you, for I have not seen him to-day. He 
is well, but somehow strange. You remember what a 
proud soul he was, shut up in himself. Now he is in good 
health, as it were, but has become a little child; at the least 
trouble there are tears in his eyes.” 

After a while the two went out together. 

“Ts Panna Helena with Pan Ignas yet?” inquired 
Svirski. 

“She is. He takes her departure to heart so much that 
she has pity on him. She was to go away in a week; now, 
as you see, the second week has passed.” 

‘‘ What does she wish specially to do with herself ? ” 

“She says nothing precise on this point. Probably she 
will enter some religious order and pray all her life for 
Ploshovski.” 

“ But Panna Ratkovski ?” 

“ Panna Ratkovski is with Pani Melnitski.” 

“Did Pan Ignas feel her absence much ?” 

“ For the first days. Afterward he seemed to forget her.” 

“Tf he does not marry her in a year, I will repeat my 
proposal. As I love God, I will. Such a woman, when she 
becomes a wife, grows attached to her husband.” 

«JT know that in her soul Panna Helena wishes Ignas to 
marry Panna Ratkovski. But who knows how it will turn 
out?” 

‘‘T am sure that he will marry her; what I say is the 
imagining of a weak head. I shall not marry.” 

“My wife said that you told her that yesterday ; but she 
laughed at the threat.” 

“Tt is not a threat; it is only this, that I have no hap- 
piness. ” ; 

_ Their conversation was interrupted by the coming of a 


618 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


carriage, in which were Pani Kraslavski and Pani Mashko. 
Those ladies were going in the direction of the Alley, 
wishing evidently to take the air. The day was clear, but 
cold; and Pani Mashko was so occupied with drawing a 
warm cloak on her mother that she did not see them, and 
did not return their salutation. 

“T called on them the day before yesterday,” said Svirski. 
* She is a kindly sort of woman.” 

“T hear that she is a very good daughter,” answered Pan 
Stanislav. 

“T noticed that when I was there; but, as is usual with 
an old sceptic, it occurred to me at once that she finds 
pleasure also in the réle of a careful daughter. Do you 
not see women often doing good of some special sort be- 
cause they think that it becomes them ?” 

And Svirski was not mistaken. In fact, Pani Mashko 
found pleasure in the réle of a self-sacrificing daughter. 
But that itself was very much, since such a satisfaction 
flowed still from real attachment to her mother, and because 
at sight of her misfortune something was roused in the 
woman, something quivered. At the same time Svirski did 
not wish, or did not know how, to draw this further conelu- 
sion from his thoughts: that as in the domain of the toilet 
a woman in addition to a new hat needs a new cloak, a new 
dress, new gloves, so in the domain of good deeds once she 
has taken up something she wants to be fitted out anew from 
head to foot. In this way the rebirth of a woman is never 
quite impossible. 

Meanwhile they arrived at Pan Ignas’s, who received 
them with delight; because, for some time past, the sight 
of people gave him pleasure, as it does usually to patients 
returning to life. When he had learned from Svirski that 
the latter would go soon to Italy, he began to insist that he 
should take him. 

“Ah, ha!” thought Svirski; “then somehow Panna 
Ratkovski is not in thy head?” 

Pan Ignas declared that he had been thinking long 
of Italy; that nowhere else would he write as there, under 
those impressions of art, and those centuries crumbling 
into ruins entwined with ivy. He was carried away and 
pleased by that thought; hence the honest Svirski agreed 
without difficulty. 

“But,” said he, ‘*I cannot stay long there this time, for 
I have a number of portraits to paint in this city; and, 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 619 


besides, I promised Pan Stanislav to return to the christen- 
ing.” Then he turned to Pan Stanislav, — 

‘Well, what is it finally, the christening of a son or a 
daughter? ” 

“Let it be what it likes,” answered Pan Stanislav, “if 
only, with God’s will, in good health.” 

And while the other two began to plan the journey, he 
took farewell, and went to his counting-house. He had a 
whole mail from the previous day to look over, so, shutting 
himself in, he began to read letters, and dictate to a writer 
in short-hand those which touched affairs needing imme- 
diate transaction. After a while, however, a newly hired 
servant interrupted his labor by announcing that some lady 
wished to see him. ‘ 

Pan Stanislav was disturbed. It seemed to him, it is 
unknown why, that this could be no other than Pani 
Mashko; and, foreseeing certain explanations and scenes, 
his heart began to beat unquietly. 

Meanwhile the laughing and glad face of Marynia ap- 
peared in the door most unexpectedly. 

“Ah, well, have n’t I given a surprise?” inquired she. 

Pan Stanislav sprang up at sight of her, with a feeling 
of sudden and immense delight, and, seizing her hands, 
began to kiss them, one after the other. 

“But, my dear, this is really a surprise!” said he. 
“Whence did it come to thy head to look in here?” 

And thus speaking, he pushed an armchair toward her, 
and seated her as a dear and honored guest; from his 
radiant face it was evident what pleasure her presence was 
giving him. 

“T have something curious to show thee,” said Marynia; 
‘tand because I must walk a good deal, anyhow, I came in, 
And thou, what didst thou think? Whom didst thou look 
for? Own up, right away!” 

Thus speaking, she began to threaten him while laugh- 
ing; but he answered, — 

“So much business is done here, in every case I didn’t 
think it was thou. What hast thou to show?” 

‘See what a letter I have!” 


Dear AND Betovep Lapy, — It will astonish you perhaps that I 
turn to you; but you, who are to become a mother soon, are the only 
person on earth who will understand what must take place in the heart 
of a mother —even if she is only an aunt — who sees her child’s 


620 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


unhappiness. Believe me it is a question for me of nothing else than 
bringing even temporary relief to an unhappy child; and it inter- 
ests me the more, that in all this that has happened I myself am te 
blame chiefly. Perhaps these words too will astonish you, but it is 
the case. I amto blame. If a bad and spoilt man, at the moment 
when Nitechka was tottering and losing her balance, dared to touch 
her with his unworthy lips, I should not have lost my head and sac- 
rificed the child. Indeed, Yozio Osnovyski is to blame too: he put 
the question of marriage on a sharp knife; he suspected something 
and wanted to rid his house of Kopovski. May God forgive him, for 
it is not proper to defend one’s self at the cost of another’s happiness 
and life. My dear lady! it seemed to me at the first moment that 
the only issue was marriage with the unworthy Kopovski, and that 
Nitechka had no longer the right to become the wife of Ignas. I 
wrote even purposely to Ignas that she followed the impulse of her 
heart, and that she would give her hand to Kopovski with attach- 
ment; and I thought that in this way Ignas would bear the loss of 
her more easily, and I wanted to decrease his pain. Nitechka for 
Kopovski! The merciful God did not permit that; and when 1 too 
saw that that union would have been death for Nitechka, we were 
thinking only of this, how to be free of those bonds. It is no longer 
a question for me of returning to former relations, for Nitechka too 
has lost faith in people and in life, so that probably she would never 
be willing to agree to a return. She does not even know that I am 
writing this letter. If the beloved lady had seen how Nitechka has 
paid for all this with her health, and how terribly she felt the act of 
Pan Ignas, she would have pitied her. Pan Ignas should not have 
done what he has done, even out of regard for Nitechka; alas! men 
in such cases count only with their own wishes. She is as much to, 
blame in all this as a newly born infant; but I see how she melts 
before my eyes, and how from morning till evening she is grieving 
because she was the unconscious cause of his misfortune, and might 
have broken his life. Yesterday, with tears in her eyes, she begged 
me in case of her death to be a mother to Ignas, and to watch over 
him as over my own son. Every day she says that maybe he is 
cursing her, and my heart is breaking, for the doctor says that he 
answers for nothing if her condition continues. O God of mercy! 
but come to the aid of a despairing mother ; let me know even from 
time to time something about Ignas, or rather write to me that he is 
well, that he is calm, that he has forgotten her, that he is not cursing 
her, so that I might show her that letter and bring her even a little 
relief from her torture. I feel that I am writing only in half con- 
sciousness, but you will understand what is taking place in me, when 
I look on that unhappy sacrifice. God will reward you and I will 
pray every day that your daughter, if God gives you a daughter, be 
happier than my poor Nitechka. 


“What is thy thought about that?” inquired Marynia. 
**T think,” said Pan Stanislav, “that news of the change 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 621 


in Pan Ignas’s fortune has spread rather. widely: and 
second, I think that this letter, sent to your address 
directed really to Ignas.” : 

“That may be. It is not an honest letter; 
may be very unhappy.” 

“It is certain that their position eaunot be pleasant. 
Osnovski was right when he wrote that there is even for 
Pani Bronich an immense disappointment in all this, and 
that she is trying’ vainly to deceive herself. As for Panna 
Castelli, you know what Svirski told me? I do not repeat 
to thee his words literally; but he said that now only a 
fool, or a man without moral value, would marrv her. 
They understand this themselves, and certainly it is not 
pleasant for them. Perhaps, too, conscience is speaking; 
but still, see how many dodges there are in that letter. 
Do not show it to Ignas.” 

‘‘No, I will not,” answered Marynia, whose warmest 
wishes were on the side of Panna Ratkoyski. 

And Pan Stanislav, following the thought which was 
ligging into him for some time past, repeated to her, word 
for word almost, what he had repeated to himself, — 

“‘There is a certain logic which punishes, and they are 
harvesting what they sowed. Evil, like a wave, is thrown 
back from the shore and returns.” 

Hereupon Marynia began to draw figures on the floor 
with her parasol, as if meditating on something; then, 
raising her clear eyes to her husband, she said, — 

“Tt is true, my Stas, that evil returns; but it may return, 
too, as remorse and sorrow. In that case the Lord God is 
satisfied with such penance, and punishes no further.” 

Tf Marynia had known what was troubling him, and 
wanted to soften bis suffering, and console the man, she 
could not have found anything better than those few simple 
words. For some time Pan Stanislav had been oppressed 
by a foreboding that some misfortune must meet him, and 
he was in ceaseless fear of it. From her only did he learn 
that his sorrow and remorse might be that returning wave. 
Yes, he had had no little remorse, and sorrow had not been 
wanting in him; he felt, too, that if suffering might and 
could be a satisfaction, he would be ready to suffer twice 
as grievously. Now adesire took him to seize in his arms 
that woman full of simplicity and honesty, from whom so 
much good came to him; and if he did not do so, it was 
only from fear of emotions for her, and out of regard for 


18 


but still they 


622 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


her condition, and that indecision which fettered him in 
his relations with her. But he raised her hand to his lips, 
and said, — 

“Thou art right, and art very kind.” 

She, pleased with the praise, smiled at him, and began 
to prepare for home. 

When she had gone, Pan Stanislav went to the window, 
and followed her with his eyes. From afar he saw her 
curved form advancing with heavy step, her dark hair 
peeping from under her hat; and in that moment he felt 
with new force, greater than ever, that she was the dearest 
person in the world to him, and that he loved her only, 
and would love her till his death. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 623 


CHAPTER LXIII. 


Two days later Pan Stanislav received a note from 
Mashko, containing a few words of farewell, 


‘*T go to-day,” wrote he. “I shall try absolutely to run in once 
more to thee; but in every case I bid thee farewell; and thank thee 
for all proofs of friendship which thou hast shown me. May the 
Lord God prosper thee better than He has prospered me so far! | 
should like to see thee, even for a moment; and if I can, | shall run 
in about four o’clock. Meanwhile I repeat the request to remem. 
ber my wife, and protect her a little when people drop her. | pray 
thee also to defend me before her against people’s tongues. 1 am 
going to Berlin at nine in the evening, and quite openly. ‘Till we 
meet again! and in every case, be well, — and once more, thanks for 
everything. 





“ MASHKO.” 


Pan Stanislav went to the counting-house about four, 
but he waited beyond an hour in vain. “He will not 
come,” thought he, at last; ‘‘so much the better.” And 
he went home with the feeling of satisfaction that he had 
succeeded in avoiding a disagreeable meeting. But in the 
evening a species of pity for Mashko began to move him: 
he thought that the man had gone by a bad and feverish 
road, it is true; but he had had his fill of torment and 
tearing, and in the end had paid dearly; that all which 
had happened was to be foreseen long before; and if those 
who foresaw it had associated with him, and received him 
at their houses, they ought not to show him contempt in 
the day of his downfall. He knew, too, that he should 
give Mashko pleasure by his appearance at the station; 
and after a moment of hesitation he went. 

On the road he remembered that likely he should find 
Pani Mashko, too, at the station; but he knew that in 
any event he must meet her, and he judged that to with- 
draw because of her would be a kind of vain cowardice. 
With these thoughts he went to the station. 

In the hall of the first class, which is not large, there 
were several persons, and on the tables whole piles of 
travelling-cases, but nowhere could he see Mashko; and 
only after he had looked around carefully did he recognize 


° 


424 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


in a young veiled lady, sitting in one corner of the hall, 
Pani Mashko. 

“Good-evening,” said he, approaching her. ‘I have 
come to say good-by to your husband. Where is he?” 

She bowed slightly, and answered, with the thin, cold 
voice usual to her, — 

“My husband is buying tickets.” 

“How tickets? Are you going with him?” 

**No; my husband is buying a ticket.” 

Further conversation under these conditions seemed 
rather difficult; but, after a while, Mashko appeared in 
company with a railway servant, to whom he gave the 
ticket and money, with the order to check the baggage. 
Wearing a long travelling overcoat and a soft silk cap, he 
looked, with his side whiskers and gold glasses, like some 
travelling diplomat. Pan Stanislav deceived himself, too, 
in thinking that Mashko would show uncommon delight at 
his coming. Mashko, when he saw him, said, it is true, 
“Oh, how thankful I am that thou hast come!” but, as it 
were, with a kind of indifference, and with the hurry usual 
to people who are going on a journey. 

“Everything is checked,” said he, looking around the 
hall. “But where are my hand packages? Ah, here they 
are! Good!” 

Then he turned to Pan Stanislav, and said, — 

“T thank thee for having come. But do me still one 
kindness, and conduct my wife home; or, at least, go out 
with her, and help her to find a carriage. Terenia, Pan 
Polanyetski will take thee home. My dear friend, come 
one moment; I have something more to say to thee.” 

And, taking Pan Stanislav aside, he began to speak 
feverishly, — 

‘Take her home without fail. I have given a plausible 
form to my journey; but do thou say to her, so, in passing, 
that thou art surprised that I am going such a short time 
before the calling of the will case, for if any event should 
detain me, the case must be lost. I wanted to go to thy 
house just to ask this of thee; but, as thou knowest, on the 
day of a journey — The case will come up ina week. I shall 
fall ill; my place will be taken by my assistant, a young 
advocate, a beginner, and of course he will lose. But the 
affair will be plausible through my illness. I have secured 
my wife; everything is in her name, and they will not 
take one glass from her. I have a plan which I shall lay 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 625 


before a shipbuilding company in Antwerp. If I make a 
contract, timber will rise in price throughout this whole 
country ; but who knows, in that case, if I shall not return 
for the whole atfair of Ploshov is a trifle in comparison 
with this business? I cannot speak more in detail. Were 
it not for the grievous moments which my wife must pass, 
I should keep regret away; but that just throttles me.” 

Here he touched his throat with his hand, and then 
spoke still more hurriedly, — 

“ Misfortune fell on me; but misfortune may fall on any 
man. For that matter, it is too late to speak of this. 
What has been, has been; but I did what I could, and I 
shall do yet what Ican. And this, too, isa relief to me, — 
that thou wilt get thy own even from Kremen. If I had 
time to tell thee what I have in mind, thou couldst see that 
it would not come to the head of every man. Maybe I 
shall have business even with thy firm. I do not give up, 
as thou seest—I have secured my wife perfectly. Well, 
it’s over, it’s over! Another in my place might have 
ended worse. Might he not? But let us return to my 
wife now.” 

Pan Stanislav listened to Mashko’s words with a certain 
pain. He wondered, it is true, at his mental fertility; 
but at the same time he felt that in him there was lacking 
that balance which makes the difference between a man of 
enterprise and an enterprising adventurer. It seemed to 
him, too, that there was in Mashko already something of 
the future worn-out trickster, who will struggle for a long 
time yet, but who, with his plans, will be falling lower 
and lower till he ends, with boots worn on one side, ina 
second-rate coffee-house, telling, in a circle of the same 
kind of “broken men,” of his former greatness. He 
thought, also, that the cause of all this was a life resting 
to begin with on untruth; and that Mashko, with all his 
intelligence, can never work himself out of the fetters of 
falsehood. 

See, he pretends yet, and even before his wife. He had 
to do so; but when the hall began to fill with people, some 
acquaintances stepped up to greet the two men, and ex- 
change a couple of such hurried phrases as are used at 
railroads. Mashko answered them with such a tinge of 
loftiness and favor that anger seized Pan Stanislav. “And 
to think,” said he, ‘‘ that he is fleeing from his creditors! 
What would happen were that man to reach fortune ?’ 

40 


626 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


But now the bell sounded, and beyond the window was 
heard the hurried breath of the engine. People began to 
move about and hasten. 

“T am curious to know what is going on.in him now ?” 
thought Pan Stanislav. 

But even at that moment Mashko could not free himself 
from the bonds of lying. Maybe his heart was straitened 
by an evil foreboding: maybe he had a gleam of second 
sight, that that wife whom he loved he should never see 
again; that he was going to want, to contempt, to fall; but 
it was not permitted him to show what he felt, or even to 
say farewell to his wife as he wished. 

The second bell sounded. They went out on the plat- 
form, and Mashko stood still a while before the sleeping- 
car. The gleam of the lamp fell directly on his face, on 
which two small wrinkles appeared near the mouth. But 
he spoke calmly, with the tone of a man whom business 
constrains to a few days’ absence, but who is sure that he 
will return. 

“Well, till we meet again, Teresia! Kiss mamma’s 
hands for me, and be well. Till we meet, till we meet! ” 

Thus speaking, he raised her hand, which, moreover, he 
kept long at his lips. Pan Stanislav, going aside a little 
by design, thought, — 

“They see each other now for the last time. In some 
half year a separation in form will follow.” 

And the peculiar lot of those two women struck him, 
the same for mother and daughter. Both married with 
great appearances of brilliancy; and the husbands of both 
had to run away from their domestic hearths, leaving only 
shame to their wives. 

But now the bell sounded the third time. Mashko 
entered. For a while, in the wide pane of the sleeping- 
ear, his side whiskers were visible, and his gold-rimmed 
eye-glasses; then the train pushed out into darkness. 

“T am at your service,” said Pan Stanislav to Pani 
Mashko. 

He was almost certain that she would thank him dryly 
for his society, and reject it; he was even angry, for the 
reason that he had determined to tell her not only some- 
thing about her husband, but something from himself. 
But she inclined her head in agreement; she, too, had her 
plan. So much bitter dislike for Pan Stanislav and such 
a feeling of offence had been rising in her heart for a long 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 62 


time, that, thinking him likely to take advantage again of 
a moment which they were to pass together, she determined 
to give him a slap which he would remember for many a 
day. 

But she was mistaken altogether. First, through her 
he had been crushed as ice is crushed against a cliff, and 
therefore for some time he had felt for her not only dis- 
like, but even hatred. Second, if later, through a feeling 
of conviction that the fault was on his side exclusively, 
that hatred had passed, then he had changed so much that 
he had become almost entirely another man. His merean 
tile reckoning with himself had taught him that such 
transgressions are paid for too dearly; he was in a phase 
of immense desire for a life without deceit; and finally 
remorse and sorrow had eaten up desire in him as rust eats 
up iron. When assisting her into the carriage, and when 
he touched her shoulder, he remained calm; and when he 
had taken his seat, he began at once to speak of Mashko, 
for he judged that through a feeling of humanity alone he 
ought to prepare her for the coming catastrophe, and soften 
its significance. 

“YT wonder at the daring of your husband,” said he. 
‘“ Let one bridge fall on the road during his stay in Berlin, 
he will not be able to return to the will case, on which, as 
you know, of course, all his fate depends. He must have 
gone for important reasons; but it is always hazardous to 
act thus.” 

“The bridges are strong,” answered Pani Mashko. 

But he, unconquered by that not over-encouraging answer, 
spoke on, drawing aside before her gradually the curtain 
of the future; and he spoke so long that while he was talk- 
ing they arrived before the Mashko dwelling. Then she, 
not understanding the meaning of his words evidently, and 
angry, perhaps, that she had not had the chance to give 
him the intended blow, said, when she had stepped out of 
the carriage, — Ur ee ee zs 

« Had you any personal object in disquieting me? 

“No,” answered Pan Stanislav, who saw that the moment 
had come to tell her that which he had resolved to say 
from himself. “In relation to you, I have only one object, 
—to declare that, with reference to you, I have offended 
unworthily, and that from my whole soul I beg your 


pardon.” 
But the young woman went into her house without 


628 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


answering a single word. Pan Stanislav, to the end of 
his life, did not know whether that was the silence of 
hatred or forgiveness. 

Still he returned home with a certain encouragement, 
for it seemed to him that he ought to have acted thus. In 
his eyes that was a small act of penitence; it was all one 
to him how Pani Mashko understood him. ‘ Maybe she 
judged,” said he to himself, “that I begged pardon of her 
for my subsequent treatment; in every case | shall be able 
to look her more boldly in the eyes now.” 

And in that thought of his there was undoubtedly some 
selfishness; but there was also the will to escape from the 
toils. 





nl 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 629 


CHAPTER LXIV. 


Panna HEENA, also, before her departure, received a 
letter from Pani Bronich, in the style of that which Marynia 
had received, and, like Marynia, she did not show it to Pan 
Ignas. Besides, Pan Ignas went away with Svirski a week 
later without visiting any acquaintance except Panna 
Ratkovski. Svirski, in person, kept him from all visits; 
and Pan Stanislav, in conversations with his wife, declared 
that he had acted rightly. ‘At present,” said he, “it 
would be disagreeable both for Ignas, and for us. ‘Those 
who saw him every day are different, for they are used to 
him; but no one else could refrain from looking at the sear 
which is left on his forehead. Besides, Ignas has changed 
very much. During the journey he will recover perfectly; 
on his return we shall receive him as if nothing had hap- 
pened; and strangers will see in him, above all, a wealthy 
young lord.” 

And it might have been so in reality. But meanwhile, 
there was loneliness around the Polanyetskis, because of 
that departure. Their circle of acquaintances had seat- 
tered on all sides. Osnovski remained still in Brussels; 
where Pani Aneta had gone no one knew. Pani Bronich 
and Panna Castelli were in Paris; there was no one at 
Yasmen. Pani Kraslavski and her daughter shut them- 
selves in, and lived only for each other; and finally sick- 
ness had confined to her bed poor Pani Emilia, once and 
forever. 

There remained only the Bigiels and the professor. But 
he was sick, too, and, moreover, he had become so peculiar 
that strangers considered him a lunatic. Some said with 
a certain irony that a man who thinks that the spirit of 
Christianity will penetrate into politics as it has into pri- 
vate life, must be indeed of sound mind. He began himself 
to think about death, and to make preparations for it. 
Frequently he repeated to Pan Stanislav his desire to die 
‘in the ante-chamber to the other world,” and in view of 
that was preparing for Rome. But since he loved Marynia 
greatly, he wished to wait till after her sickness. 


630 CHILDREN OF THE SOI. 


In this way time passed in great seclusion for the Po- 
lanyetskis. It was for that matter necessary for Marynia, 
who in recent days had felt very ill, and necessary for her 
state of feeling. Pan Stanislav worked over business in the 
counting-house, and over himself; he was working out in 
himself a new man, and watching over his wife. She, too, 
was preparing herself for a new epoch in life; and she was 
preparing herself gladly, for it seemed to her that what 
she did would act upon both of them. Pan Stanislav be- 
came daily less absolute in some way, more condescending 
in his judgments of people, and milder, not only in rela- 
tion to her, but in relation to all persons with whom life 
brought him into contact. He surrounded her with excep- 
tional, with thoughtful care; and though she supposed that 
this care had in view not so much her person as the child, 
she recognized this as proper, and was grateful. She was 
astonished at times by a kind of timidity and, as it were, 
hesitation in his treatment of her; but not being able to 
divine that he was simply curbing his feeling for her, she 
ascribed such exhibitions to “ Stas’s” fear as to whether 
all would end well in her case. 

Whole weeks passed in this manner. Their monotony 
was broken sometimes by a letter from Svirski, who, when 
he could seize a free moment, reported what he could of 
himself and Pan Ignas. In one of those letters he inquired 
in Pan Ignas’s name if Pani Polanyetski would permit him 
to send a description of his impressions in the form of 
letters to her. ‘I spoke with him of this in detail,” wrote 
Svirski. “He contends first that it might be agreeable to 
the lady to have echoes from a land which has left her so 
many pleasant memories; and second, that it would lighten 
his work greatly were he to write as if privately. He is 
well; he walks, eats, and sleeps perfectly. Every evening 
I see too that he sits at his desk and prepares to write. 
IT concluded that he was trying poetry, also. Somehow 
it does not succeed, for he has not written anything 
yet, so far as I know. I suppose, however, that all will 
come out by degrees, and in season. Meanwhile the form 
of letters would lighten his work, perhaps, really. I will 
add in conclusion that he mentions Panna Helena with 
immense gratitude; and at every mention of Panna Rat- 
kovski, his eyes become bright. I speak of her to him 
frequently, for what can I, poor man, do ? When anything 
is not predestined, there is no help in the case; and when 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 631 


it is written down to a man that he must remain like a 
stake in a hedge, he will not put forth leaves in 
even.” 

In the middle of November a letter came from Rome 
which roused much thought in the Polanyetskis, Syirsk; 
wrote as follows : — : 


spring 


“Tmagine to yourselves that Pani Bronich is here and Panna 
Castelli, and that I have had an interview with them. In Rome | 
am as if at home; hence I learned of their coming on the second day. 
And do you know what I did immediately? I persuaded Ignas to 
go to Sicily, in which, moreover, I found no ereat difficulty. | 
thought to myself, ‘he will sit in Syracuse or in Taormina; and if by 
chance he falls into the hands of the Mafia the cost of his ransom 
will be less than what he paid for the privilege of wearing Panna 
Nitechka’s ring for a short time.’ I said to myself, ‘if he and she 
are to meet on earth and be reconciled, let them meet and be recon- 
ciled; but I have no wish to take that work on my conscience, expe- 
cially after what has happered.’ Ienas is well to all seeming; but he 
has not recovered yet mentally, and in that state he might be brought 
easily to something which he would regret for a lifetime. As to 
those ladies, [ divined at once why they came here, and I was de- 
lighted in soul that I had hindered their tricks ; that my supposition 
was to the point is shown by this, that some days later a letter came 
to Ignas, on which I recognized the handwriting of the widow of that 
heaven-dwelling Teodor. I wrote on the envelope that Pan Ignas 
had gone away, it was unknown whither, and sent the letter retro. 

“That, however, was only the beginning of the history. Next 
morning I received a letter with an invitation to a talk. I answered 
that I must refuse with regret; that my occupations do not permit me 
to give myself such a pleasure. In answer to this, I received a 
second letter with an appeal to my character, my talent, my descent, 
my heart, my sympathy for an unhappy woman; and with the prayer 
that I should either go myself, or appoint an hour in my studio 
There was no escape, —I went. Pani Bronich herself received me 
with tears, and a whole torrent of narratives which I shall not 
repeat, but in which ‘ Nitechka’ appears as a Saint Agnes the 
martyr. ‘With what can I serve,’ ask I? She answers: ‘It is 
not a question of anything, but a kind word from Pan Ignas. The 
child is sick, she is coughing, in all likelihood she will not live the 
year out; but she wants to die with a word of forgiveness.’ At this 
I confess that I was softened a little, but I held out. Moreover, I 
could not give the address of Pan Ignas, for I did not know really 
at what hotel he had stopped. I was sweating as in a steam bath; 
and at last I promised something in general, that if Ignas would 
begin at any time to talk with me about Panna Castelli, that I 
would persuade him to act in accordance with the wish of Pani 
Bronich. 

“ But this was not all yet. When I was thinking of going, Panna 


632 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Lineta herself rushed in ona sudden, and turned to her aunt with 
the request to let her talk with me alone. I will say in parenthesis 
that she has grown thin, and that she seems taller than usual, really 
like ‘a poplar,’ which any wind might break. Hardly were we 
left alone when she turned to me and said, ‘ Aunt is trying te make 
me innocent, and is doing so through love for me. I am thankful to 
her; but I cannot endure it, and I declare to you that I am guilty, 
that I am not worthy of anything, and that if I am unhappy I have 
deserved it a hundred times.’ When I heard this I was astonished; 
but I saw that she was talking sincerely, for her lips were quivering 
and her eyes were mist-covered. You may say to yourselves that 
have a heart made of butter ; but I confess that I was moved greatly, 
and I inquired what I could do for her. ‘To this she answered that 
I could do nothing; but she begged me to believe at least that she 
took no part in those efforts of her aunt to renew relations, that 
after Pan Ignas’s act her eyes were opened to what she had done, 
and that she would never forget it in her life At last she said once 
again, that she alone was the cause of everything, and begged me to 
repeat our conversation to Pan Ignas, not immediately, however, but 
only when he could not suspect that she wished to influence him. 

“ Well, and what do you think? Would you lend belief to anything 
like that? I see clearly two things, first, that Pan Ignas’s attempt 
on his life, happen what may, must have shaken her terribly ; and 
second, that she is fabulously unhappy, — who knows, she may be sick 
really. So the opinion of Panna Helena comes to my mind, who, 
as you repeated to me, says that we must not despair of a man while 
he is living. In every case it is something uncommon. I believe 
too that even if Pan Ignas wished now to return to her, she would 
not consent, simply because she does not feel that she is worthy of 
him. As to me, I think that there are many better and nobler 
female natures than hers in the world; but may the deuce take me if 
I act against her!” 


In continuation Svirski inquired about health, and sent 
obeisances to the Bigiels. 

This letter made a great impression on all, and was the 
occasion of numerous discussions between the. Polanyetskis 
and the Bigiels. It appeared at once too how far Pan 
Stanislav was changed. Formerly he would not have found 
words enough to condemn Panna Castelli, and never would 
he have believed'that any chord of honor would make itself 
heard in a woman of her kind; but at present, when Pani 
Bigiel, who, as well as the other ladies, belonged soul and 
body to Panna Ratkovski’s side, expressed doubts, and said, 
“Ts not that merely a change of tactics on the part of 
Panna Castelli?” he said, — 

“No; she is too young for that, and she seems to me 
sincere. It is a great thing if she acknowledges her fault 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 6338 


so unconditionally, for it proves that untruth in life has 
disgusted her.” 

After a moment’s hesitation, he added, — 

“TY remember, for example, that more than once Mashko 
acknowledged, as it were, that he was going by a wrong and 
false road ; but right away he sought reasons to justify him- 
self: ‘With us it is necessary to do so;’ ‘That is the fault 
of our society ;’ ‘I pay with the money that is current.’ 
How much of this have I heard! And that was all untrue, 
too. Meanwhile there is a certain bravery in declaring, 
It is my fault absolutely. And whoso has that bravery has 
something left yet.” 

“Then do you judge that Pan Ignas would do well to 
return to her?” . 

“T do not judge at all, nor do J suppose that it could 
happen.” 

But the living interest roused by news from Rome, to- 
gether with anxiety for Pan Ignas and Panna Castelli, 
passed away soon, under the pressure of a more import- 
ant anxiety, which was hanging over the house of the 
Polanyetskis. 

Toward the end of November Marynia’s health began to fail 
evidently. It had been failing for some time, but she con- 
cealed this fact as long as possible. <A painful palpitation of 
the heart came on her, and weakness so great that there were 
days when she could not move out of an armchair. Next 
came pains in her back and giddiness. In the course of a 
week she changed so much in the eyes, and grew thin to 
such a degree, that even the doctors, who up to that time 
had considered those symptoms as the ordinary forerunners 
of approaching labor, began to be alarmed at them. Her 
transparent face assumed at times a bluish tinge; and 
seemed, especially when the sick woman kept her eyes 
closed, like the face of a dead person. Even Pani Bigiel, 
the greatest optimist near Marynia, could not at last resist 
fears ; the doctor declared to Pan Stanislav plainly that under 
such conditions the expected event might be dangerous, 
both in itself and in sequences. Marynia, though weaker 
every day and more exhausted, was indeed the only one 
who did not lose hope now. 

But Pan Stanislav lost it. Such a grievous time came 
on him that all sufferings and misfortunes which hitherto 
in life he had gone through seemed to him nothing in 
comparison with his terrible dread, which often and often 


634 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


became utter despair. Formerly after his wedding, in his 
conceptions of marriage and his hopes of the future, a child 
was the main thing; now for the first time he felt that he 
would give not only one, but all the children that he could 
ever have, to save that one beloved Marynia. And his 
heart was cut when at times Marynia repeated with her 
weakened voice the question which before she had asked 
more than once, “Stas, but if it is a boy?” He would 
have been glad to fall at her feet, embrace them, and say, 
“Tet the devil take it, boy or girl, if only thou art left;” 
but he had to smile at her, and assure her calmly that it 
was all one to him. His former terrors fell upon him 
again; and that hope, roused by Marynia’s words, that by 
God’s favor a wave of evil returns as remorse only, was 
dissipated without a trace. Now, at moments, he had again 
the feeling that Marynia’s sickness might be just that 
returning wave. How it might be that wave he could not 
tell, for in vain did reason say to him that between the 
offence of Pani Osnovski or of Panna Castelli, for example, 
and the punishment which met them, there is an immediate 
connection which there is not in his case. Fear answered 
him, that evil may filter through life by such secret chan- 
nels that the reason of man cannot follow it. And at this 
thought a dread seized him that was simply mysterious. A 
man in misfortune loses power of accurate reasoning; he 
lives under the weight of terror, and under such a weight 
was Pan Stanislav living. He saw only the precipice, and 
his own helplessness. More than once, while looking at the 
haggard face of Marynia, he said to himself, “One must 
be mad to suppose that she may not die;” and he sought 
desperately on the faces of those surrounding her for even a 
shade of hope, and with every drop of his blood, with every 
atom of his brain, with his whole soul and heart, he rose 
up against her death. It seemed to him an inconceivable 
injustice that she will have to close her eyes forever before 
he can show her how he loves her beyond every estimate ; 
before he rewards her for all his carelessness, harsh treat- 
ment, egotism, and faithlessness; before he tells her that 
she has become the soul of his soul, something not only 
loved above all in his life, but revered. He repeated to 
himself that if God would not do this for him He ought to 
do it for her, so that in going from the world she might 
leave it with a feeling at least of that happiness which she 
had deserved. From these insolent suggestions to God of 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 635 


how He ought to act, he passed again to compunction, to 
humility, and to prayer. But meanwhile Marynia was 


' daily more and more dangerously ill, and he, between two 


despairs, one of which shouted, “This cannot be,” and the 
other, “It must be,” — he struggled as if in a vice. 

Finally, from necessity, from the fear of taking hope 
from Marynia, he was forced to pretend in her presence 
that he paid little attention to her sickness. And the doe- 
tor and Pani Bigiel warned him daily not to alarm her; his 
own reason indicated the same to him. And here was a 
new torture, since it came to his mind that she might look 
on this as a lack of feeling, and die with the conviction that 
he had never loved her. Thus everything was changed in 
him utterly. Sleeplessness, torment, and alarm brought 
him to a kind of sickly exaltation, in which even the dan- 
ger, which of itself was too evident, he saw in a still higher 
degree. It seemed to him that there was no hope, and at 
times he thought of Marynia as if already dead. For 
whole days he was thinking over every good point of her 
character, — her words, her kindness, her calmness. He 
remembered how all loved her, and he reproached himself 
desperately, saying that he had never been worthy of her, 
that he had not loved her sufficiently, that he had not 
valued her enough, and, to crown all, had broken faith 
with her; and therefore he must lose her, and lose her 
deservedly. 

And in the feeling that a thing so terrible was also 
deserved, and that it was too late for any correction, was 
something simply heart-rending. Even persons who during 
life were always loved greatly, when they go from this 
world, leaving their friends in sorrow because they did not 
love the departed enough, leave behind, of all sorrows, that 
which is sorest. 

At the beginning of December, Svirski and Pan Ignas 
returned, after two months’ journey, from Italy. Pan Stan- 
islav had grown so thin and haggard in that interval that 
they hardly knew him; and he, quite sunk in misery, 
turned scarcely any attention to them, and listened as in a 
dream to words of hope and consolation from both, as well 
as narratives, with which the honest artist tried to divert 
his suffering mind. What did he care now for Pan Ignas, 
Pani Bronich, Panna Castelli, in face of the fact that 
Marynia might die any day? Svirski, who had immense 
friendship for him, wishing to find from some pointa little 


636 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


hope, betook himself to Pani Bigiel; but even she had not 
much hope to offer. The doctors themselves did not 
know well what the trouble was, for to her condition were 
added various complications, which could not be defined 
even. It was only known that the heart of the sick woman 
acted irregularly ; they feared above all that, as a result of 
defective circulation, some coagulation in the veins might 
result, which would cause sudden death. Besides, even in 
case of a happy delivery, they feared a number of things, — 
exhaustion, loss of strength, and all those results which 
come only later. Svirski convinced himself that Pani 
Bigiel did not deceive herself either when, at the end of 
the conversation, she fell into tears, and said, — 

“Poor Marynia! but he, poor man too. If even a child 
should be left him, he might find strength to bear the 
blow.” 

And when she had dried her tears, she added, — 

“As it is, I do not understand how he endures it all.” 

That was true; Pan Stanislav did not eat and did not 
sleep. He had not shown himself at the counting-house 
for along time ; he went out only for flowers, which Marynia 
loved always, and the sight of which cheered her. But she 
was so sick that whenever he went for a bunch of chrysan- 
themums he returned with the terrible thought that perhaps 
he was bringing it for her coffin. Marynia’s own eyes 
opened to this, — that perhaps her death was coming. She 
did not wish to speak of this to her husband; but before 
Pani Bigiel she fell to weeping one day in grief for her own 
life and for “Stas.” She was tortured by the thought, 
how would he bear it, for she wanted that he should be 
awfully sorry for her, and at the same time, that he 
should not suffer much. Before him she pretended yet a 
long time to feel sure that all would end happily. 

But later, when fainting spells came, she summoned 
courage to talk with him openly; this seemed to her a duty. 
Therefore one night, when Pani Bigiel, overcome by drow- 
siness, went to sleep, and he was watching near her as usual, 
she stretched her hand to him, and said, — 

“ Stas, I wanted to talk with thee, and beg for one thing.” 

“ What is it, my love ? ” asked Pan Stanislav. 

She thought for a time evidently how to express her 
prayer; and then she began to speak, — 

“Promise me —I know that I shall recover surely — but 
promise me that should it be a boy, thou wilt love and be 
kind.” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL, 637 

Pan Stanislav, by a superhuman effort, restrained the 
sobbing which seized his breast, and said calmly, 

“ My dear love, I will always love thee and him, be sure.” 

Thereupon Marynia tried to raise his hand to her lips 
but from weakness she was not able to do so: then Pa 4 
smiled at him from thankfulness. And again she said, 
“Do not think that I suppose for a moment anything 
terrible, not at all! but I should like to confess.” ~ . 

A shiver went through Pan Stanislav from head to feet. 

“ Well, my child,” answered he, with a voice of fear, and 
as it were not his own voice. 

And, recollecting that once her expression “service of 
God” pleased him, and wishing to let him know that it 
was not the question of anything else here but the per- 
formance of ordinary religious duties, she repeated, with 
an almost glad smile, — 

“The service of God.” 

The confession took place next morning. Pan Stanislav 
was so sure that that was the end that he was almost 
astonished because Marynia was alive yet, and because she 
was even a little better in the evening. 

He did not dare to admit hope into his soul. But she 
became brighter, and said that she breathed more easily. 
About midnight she began the usual warfare with him 
about his going to rest. Indeed, from trouble of mind and 
toil he looked not much better than she did. He refused 
at first, contending that he had slept in the daytime, and 
that he was refreshed, which was not true; but she insisted 
absolutely. He yielded ail the more that there was a special 
woman and Pani Bigiel, besides the doctor, who for a week 
had slept in their house, and who assured him now that 
for the time there was no reason. to expect any turn for 
the worse. 

But when he went out, he did as he did usually; that 
is, he sat in an armchair at the door, and began to listen 
to what was happening in the room. In this way the 
hours of night passed. At the least noise he sprang up; 
but when the noise ceased he sat down again and began to 
think hurriedly and chaotically, as people do over whom 
danger is hanging. But at times his thoughts pressed one 
another, grew confused from weariness, forming, as 1t were, 
a dense crowd in which he was wandering without power 
to know anything. Sleep also tortured him. He had un- 
common strength; but for ten days he knew not how he 


638 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


lived. Only black coffee and feverishness kept him on his 
feet. He did not yield even then, though his head was as 
heavy as lead and the crowd of his thoughts changed, as 
it were, into a black cloud, without a clear spot. He 
merely repeated to himself yet that Marynia was sick and 
he ought not to fall asleep; but these words had not the 
least meaning for him now. 

At last toil, exhaustion, and sleepless nights conquered. 
A stony invincible sleep seized him, —a sleep in which there 
was no dreaming, in which reality perished, in which the 
whole world perished, and in which life itself was _be- 
numbed. 

He was only roused toward morning by a knocking at 
the door. 

“Pan Stanislav!” called the smothered voice of Pani 
Bigiel. 

He sprang to his feet, and, gaining consciousness that 
moment, ran out of that room. With one glance he took 
in Marynia’s bed; and at sight of the closed curtains his 
feet tottered under him. 

“What has happened?” whispered he, with whitening 
lips. 

But Pani Bigiel answered with a voice equally low, pant- 
ing a trifle, — 

“ You have a son.” 

And she put her finger on her lips. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOLL. 639 


CHAPTER LXV. 


THERE were grievous days yet, and very grievous. Such 
weakness came on Marynia that her life began to quiver, 
like the flame of a taper. Would it quench, or would it 
flicker up again? At moments all were convinced that 
the flame was just, just dying. Still youth, and the relief 
brought by the coming of a child to the world, turned the 
scale on the life side. On acertain day the sick woman 
woke after long sleep, and seemed healthier. The old 
doctor in attendance, who witnessed the improvement, 
wished to convince himself more clearly that there was no 
deception, and asked to call in a physician with whom he 
had held counsel earlier. Pan Stanislav went to find him, 
and drove himself out of his mind almost while searching 
the city half a day for him; he did not dare hope yet that 
that turn in her sickness and in his misfortune was de- 
cisive. When at last he found the hunted doctor and 
brought him to the house, Pani Bigiel received him in the 
room adjoining the sick chamber, with moist eyelids, but 
with a glad face, and said, — 

“She is better! decidedly better.” 

The woman could not say more, for tears flowed from 
her eyes. Pan Stanislav grew pale from emotion; but she 
controlled her delight with an effort, and said, smiling 
through her tears, — 

“She is fighting for food now. A while since she asked 
to have the child brought. She asked also why you did 
not come. But now she is fighting for food; and how she 
is fighting! Ah, praise be to God! Praise be to God!” 

And in her excitement she threw her arms around Pan 
Stanislav ; then he kissed her hand and did not take it from 
his mouth for along time. He trembled in every limb in 
the struggle to repress his delight, and also the groans 
which had gathered in him through many days of dread 
and torture, and which sought to burst forth now in spite 
of every effort. 

Meanwhile the doctors came to Marynia, and sat rather 
long at her bedside. When the consultation was over, 
and they appeared again, satisfaction was evident on their 


640 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


faces. After Pan Stanislav’s feverish inquiry, the doctor 
in regular attendance, an impetuous old man, with gold- 
rimmed glasses on his nose, and a golden heart in his 
breast. happy himself now, but greatly wearied, said, 
grumbling, — 

“ How is she? Go and thank God, — that is what! ” 

And Pan Stanislav went. Even had he been a man with- 
out belief, he would have gone at that moment, and 
thanked God with a heart swollen from tears and thank- 
fulness, for having taken pity on him and let the wave 
return in the guise of pain and suffering, and not in the 
guise of death. 

Later, when he had calmed himself, he went on tiptoe to 
his wife’s room, where Pani Bigiel was. Marynia was 
gazing straight ahead with gladsome eyes, and at the first 
glance it was evident that she was much better really. 
When she saw him, she said, — 

“ Ah, see, Stas —I am well!” 

‘‘Well, my love,” answered Pan Stanislav, quietly. It 
was not time yet for outbursts; therefore he sat down in 
silence near her bed. But after a while joy and great feel- 
ing for her overcame him so far that, bending down, he 
embraced with both hands her feet covered with the quilt, 
and, putting his face down to them, remained motionless. 

And she, though very weak yet, smiled with satisfaction. 
She looked some time at him; then, just like a child which 
is happy because it is fondled, she said to Pani Bigiel, 
pointing with her transparent finger to that dark head 
nestled at her feet, — 

“He loves me! ”’ 

Next day Marynia felt still stronger, and from that 
moment almost every hour brought improvement. At last 
that was not a gradual return to health, but a bloom, as 
it were, a sudden return of spring after winter, which 
astonished the doctor himself. Pan Stanislav wanted at 
moments to shout from the joy which was stifling him, as 
formerly sorrow had stifled. They kept Marynia in bed 
still, through excess of caution; but when her strength, 
her bloom, her wish for life, her humor, had returned, she 
began to call people to her, and say every evening that she 
would rise from her bed on the morrow. In one respect 
only the long illness and weakness had brought a change 
in her manner, which was to pass, however, with other 
traces of sickness. This was it,—she, who had been sucha 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 641 


calm and wise woman formerly, had become for a certain 
time a kind of spoiled child, who insisted on various things 
frequently, and felt a real disappointment if they aviveed 
refused. Pan Stanislav, in speaking with her, entered 
involuntarily into her tone, hence those “ grimaces ” were 
an occasion also of merriment. 

Once she began to complain to him that Pani Bigiel 
would not give her red wine. Pani Bigiel explained that 
she gave as much as the doctor permitted, and must wait 
for permission to give more. Pan Stanislav set about com- 
forting Marynia at once, speaking to her just as he used to 
speak formerly to Litka, — 

“ They will give the child wine, — they will give it!— 
the moment the doctor comes.” 

To which Marynia said, “ Red!” 

“ But how red must it be!” answered Pan Stanislav; and 
then both began to laugh, and Pani Bigiel with them. As 
some time before, the fear of death and misfortune had hung 
over that room, so now it was lighted with frequent joy, as 
with sunlight. At times they fell into perfect humor, and 
grandfather Plavitski formed part of the company too on 
pecasions. He, since the advent to the world of his grand- 
son, had grown full of patriarchal, but kindly importance, 
which did not drive away merriment. It was varied, 
however, for at times a lofty and solemn manner gained 
the upper hand in him. On a certain day he brought his 
will, and forced all to listen to its paragraphs from begin- 
ning to end. In the touching words of the introduction 
he took farewell of life, of his daughter, of Pan Stanislav, 
and of his grandson, not sparing directions regarding the 
education of the latter into a good grandson, a good son, 
a good father, and a good citizen; then he made him heir 
of all he possessed. And in spite of the fact that since 
Mashko’s bankruptcy he possessed only as much as Pan 
Stanislav gave him, still he was moved by his own muni- 
ficence and preserved all that evening the mien of a pelican, 
which nourishes its young with its own proper blood. 

A person who returns to the world after a grievous ill- 
ness passes anew through all the periods of childhood and 
first youth, with this difference only, — that that which 
formerly was counted by years is counted now by weeks, 
or even days. So it was with Marynia. Pani Bigiel, 
who at first called her “baby,” said, in laughing, that 
gradually “baby” had changed into a little girl, the little 

41 


642 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


girl into a maiden. But the maiden began to find her 
feminine coquetry. Now, when they combed her hair, she 
insisted that they should place on her knees a small mirror, 
which she had received from her mother; and she looked 
into it carefully, to see if Pani Bigiel’s promise that 
“afterward she would be still more beautiful,” was being 
justified. On the first occasions the examinations did not 
satisfy her over-much, but afterwards more and more. At 
last she gave command one day to bring the mirror again, 
after her hair was dressed; and once more she made a 
thorough review of her complexion, her eyes, her mouth, 
her hair, her expression, — in a word, of everything which 
there was to look at. And the review must have turned 
out well, for she began to smile, and grow radiant; at last 
she turned toward Pan Stanislav’s chamber, threatening 
with her thin fist, and said, with a very aggressive 
mien, — 

“But wait now, Pan Stas!” 

In truth, she had never been so comely. Her complexion, 
always very pure, had become still clearer, and more lily- 
like than it was when Pan Ignas had lost his head, and 
rhymed from morning till evening about it. Besides, the 
first rosy dawn of health was shining on her cheeks. From 
her eyes, from her mouth, from her face, which had grown 
smaller after sickness, there shone a species of light, a 
rebirth into life, a spring. It was a wonderful head 
simply, full of bright and clear colors, and at the same 
time of delicate outline, —really exquisite, and, as Pan 
Ignas had expressed himself once, belonging to the field, 
so wonderful that at moments, when it was lying on the 
pillow, and on its own dark hair, it was not possible to 
look at it sufficiently. That so-called “Pan Stas,” who 
saw everything clearly, and who, according to the descrip- 
tion of Bigiel, “could not move hand or foot from love,” 
did not need to “wait” at all. Not only did he love her 
now as a woman and one dear to him, but he felt for her 
gratitude beyond bounds because she had not died, and he 
showed his gratitude by striving to divine her thoughts. 
Marynia had not even imagined at any time that she would 
become to such a degree the motive of his life, the sight of 
his eye, the soul of his thought and activity. Never had 
it been disagreeable to them with each other; but now, 
with Marynia’s return to health, an unexampled happi- 
ness, an unexampled delight, came to their household. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 648 

And young Polanyetski, too, contributed actively. 
Marynia was not able to nourish him herself: and her 
husband, foreseeing this, got a nurse for his son. Wish- 
Ing, moreover, to give the sick woman pleasure, he brought 
in an old acquaintance of hers in Kremen. She had served 
once with the Plavitskis; after their departure she hap- 
pened in Yalbrykov, and there a misfortune befell her. It 
was never known strictly who the cause was; but if it was 
possible to reproach any of the greater proprietors with 
want of love for the people, it was not possible to reproach 
Pan Gantovski, for all Yalbrykov was full of proofs of 
how Gantovski loved the people. Even in the negotia- 
tions about peasant privileges of the co-residents of Yal- 
brykov, among other points raised was this, —that “the 
lord heir rides on a white horse, shoots from pistols, 
and looks into the girls’ eyes; ” and if on the one hand it 
was not easy to see what particular connection the above 
habits of Gantovski had with the agreements about peasant 
privileges, it became perfectly clear on the other that, 
thanks to those habits, Pan Stanislav found with ease a 
nurse for his son in Yalbrykov. 

But as that was a youthful, vigorous, and buxom Mazo- 
vian, the young man could only succeed in her care. In 
general, that little Polanyetski was a personage who, from 
the first moment of his arrival in the world, became more 
and more a lord in the house, not counting with any one, 
nor thinking of anything, save his own wants and pleasures. 
According to his method, in moments free from sleep and 
feasting, he occupied himself with noise-making, and the 
development of his little lungs, by means of a ery which 
was as piercing as his early age could attain. At such 
times he was brought frequently to Marynia. On those 
occasions endless sessions began, at which all his physical 
and mental traits were investigated minutely, as well as 
every striking resemblance to his life-givers. It was 
asserted that he had the nose of his mother, the remark 
of his nurse, that he had a nose like a eat, being rejected 
with remarkable unanimity; it was settled, also, that he 
would have an immensely interesting smile; that he would 
be dark, with brown hair; that he would be tall without 
fail; that he was very lively, and would have an astonish- 
ing memory. Pani Bigiel, while Marynia was lying in 
bed, made, also, on her own account, various discoveries, 
which she announced to all in general. Once she rushed 


644 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


into Marynia’s room with delight and haste worthy of 
every recognition, and said, — 

“Tmagine to thyself, he spread out his little fingers on 
one hand, and with the other thou wouldst swear that he 
was counting. He’ll be a mathematician, beyond doubt.” 

And Marynia answered in all seriousness, — 

“Then he ’ll take after his father.” 

Still she made a discovery earlier, even with reference 
to date, than all those of Pani Bigiel, —namely, that 
he was “a dear little love of a creature.” As to Pan 
Stanislav, at the first moment he looked at the new 
acquaintance with astonishment and a certain distrust. 
In his time he had wished greatly to have a daughter, with 
this reason chiefly, that, being in make-up of heart a great 
child-man, he imagined that he could give all the tender- 
ness in him only toa girl. There was sticking in him, it 
is unknown why, an idea that a son would be some kind 
of a big lump of a fellow with mustaches almost, speaking 
in a bass voice, snorting somewhat like a horse, whom it 
would not be worth while to approach with tenderness, for 
he would hold it in contempt. Only gradually, after look- 
ing at this little figure sleeping on pillows, did he begin 
to reach the conviction that not only was that no big 
“Jump of a boy,” but simply a poor little thing, deserving 
of tenderness, small, weak, defenceless, needing care and 
love as much as any little girl in the world. At last he 
said to himself, “So he is that kind of boy!” And thence- 
forth he became more and more tender toward the little 
thing; and after a few days he even tried to carry him to 
Marynia, which, however, he did with such an amount of 
purely superfluous caution, and also so awkwardly, that he 
brought to laughter, not only Marynia and Pani Bigiel, 
but, with a loss to his own dignity, even the nurse. 

And laughter was heard now in the dwelling of the 
Polanyetskis from morning till evening. Both, waking in 
the morning, woke with that happy feeling that the day 
would bring them new delight. Bigiel, who, from the 
time that Marynia left her bed, was admitted in the even- 
ing with his violoncello, looking at their life, said once, 
after a moment of necessary meditation, “ Misfortune may 
come to good people, as to every one; but when it is well 
for them, as God lives, it is better for no one else.” 

And, in truth, life was pleasant for them. Marynia, 
according to what she had heard in her time from Pani 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL, 645 


Bigiel, and what she thought herself, judged that the cause 
of this new bloom of love in her husband was the child, 
which bound them by new bonds. One day she began even 
to speak of this to Pan Stanislav; but he answered with all 
simplicity, — 

“No; I give thee my word! I love him in his way; but 
thee I loved already fabulously before he came to the world, 
for thyself, because thou art as thou art. Look around,” 
said he, ‘think what is going on in the world; and to whom 
can I compare thee?” 

Then, taking her hands, he began to kiss them, not only 
with immense love, but also with the greatest respect, and 
added, — 

“Thou wilt never know what thou art for me, and how 
I love thee.” 

But, nestling up to him, she asked, with a face bright as 
the sun in heaven, — 

“Indeed, Stas, shall I never know? Try to tell me.” 


646 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER LXVI. 


THE christening came. Immediately after his arrival in 
the world, the young man had been baptized with water 
vy Pani Bigiel, to whom, impressed by the sickness of the 
mother, it seemed that the little one might die any moment. 
But he had not even thought of that, and had waited, in 
the best of health and appetite, for the time of the solem- 
nity, in which he was to play the leading part. Pan 
Stanislav had invited all his acquaintances. Besides people 
of the house, and grandfather Plavitski, there were Pani 
Emilia, who, for that day, had rallied the remnant of her 
strength, the Bigiels, with the little Bigiels, Professor 
Vaskovski, Svirski, Pan Ignas, and Panna Ratkovski. Pani 
Polanyetski, now in health, and happy, looked so enchant- 
ing that Svirski, gazing at her, caught his hair with both 
hands, and said, with his usual outspokenness, — 

“This just passes every understanding! As God lives! 
a man might lose his eyes.” 

‘*Well,” said Pan Stanislav, puffing with satisfaction, 
and with that conceit evident in him that he had always 
seen that which others saw only now for the first time. 

But Svirski answered, — 

“ Kneel down, nations! I will say nothing further.” 

Marynia was confused at hearing this, but flushed with 
pleasure, feeling that Svirski was right. She had, how- 
ever, to occupy herself with the guests and the ceremony, 
and all the more since a certain disorder had crept in, to 
begin with. The first couple, Pani Emilia and Bigiel, 
were to hold little Stas; the second couple were Panna 
Ratkovski and Svirski. Meanwhile, this last man began 
to create unexpected difficulties, discovering hindrances, 
and evading, it was unknown why. “He would be very 
glad —he had come from Italy purposely — of course. 
That was an arranged affair; but he had never before held 
a child at a christening, therefore he didn’t know if his — 
god-child would remain in good health, and especially if 
he would have luck with women.” At this Pan Stanis- 
lav laughed, and called him a superstitious Italian, but 
Marynia divined the trouble more quickly. She took 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 647 


advantage of the moment in which he had pushed back 
toward the window to escape, and whispered, — 

A gossip? of the second couple is no hindrance in this 
case. 

Svirski raised his eyes to her, then laughed, showing 
his small sound teeth, and said on a sudden, turning to 
Panna Ratkovski, — 

“It is true, this is only in the second couple; therefore, 
I will serve you.” 

All surrounded the little Stas, who, in the arms of the 
nurse, and dressed in muslin and lace, looked valiant, with 
his bald spot and his staring round eyes, in which the 
external world was reflected as mechanically as in a mirror. 
Bigiel took him now in his arms, and the ceremony 
began. 

Those present listened with due attention to the solemn 
sacramental words, but the young pagan exhibited excep- 
tional hardness of heart. First he began to kick, so that 
he half freed himself from Bigiel’s arms; later, when 
Bigiel, in his name, renounced the devil and his works, 
the young man did all in his power to drown the words. 
It was only when he saw, all at once, in the midst of his 
screaming, Bigiel’s spectacles, that he stopped suddenly, 
as if to let people know that if there are such astonishing 
objects in the world, it is a different thing. 

However, the ceremony ended, and immediately after 
they gave him into the hands of the nurse, who put him 
into a splendid cradle, in the form of a wagon, the gift of 
Svirski, and wished to roll him out of the room. But 
Svirski, who never in his life, perhaps, had seen so nearly 
such a small person, and in whose breast beat a heart long 
yearning for fatherhood, stopped the nurse, and, bending 
down to the cradle, took the child in his arms. 

‘Carefully, carefully!” cried Pan Stanislav, pushing up 
quickly. 

But the artist turned to him, and said, — 

“Sir, I have held in my hands the works of Luca della 
Robbia.” 

And, in fact, he lifted the little creature, and began to 
swing him with as much dexterity as if he had had care 
of children all his life. Then he approached Professor 
Vaskovski, and asked, — 

1 With Panna Ratkovski, Svirski wished to avoid spiritual relationship, 
a hindrance to marriage. 


648 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“Well. what does the beloved professor think of his 
young Aryan?” 

“What?” answered the old man, looking with tender- 
ness at the child; “naturally, an Aryan, an Aryan of 
purest water.” 

* And a coming missionary,” added Pan Stanislav. 

“He will not turn from that in the future; he will not 
evade, just as you cannot evade,” answered the professor. 

It was not possible, in fact, to prejudge the future; but 
for the moment the young Aryan avoided all missions in a 
manner so unmistakable, and simply insulting, that it was 
necessary to give him to the nurse. The ladies, however, 
did not cease to smack their lips at him, and to be charmed 
with him, until they came to a decisive conclusion that he 
was a perfectly exceptional child, that his whole bearing 
showed this clearly, and that any one must be without eyes 
not to see that that would be the nicest man in the country, 
and, moreover, a genius. 

But the “genius” fell asleep at last, as if he had been 
stunned by the incense, and meanwhile lunch was served. 
Marynia, in spite of all her friendship for the artist, seated 
Pan Ignas next to Panna Ratkovski. She wished, as, for 
that matter, all wished, not excepting even Svirski, that 
something should be made clear in their relations, for Pan 
Ignas acted strangely. Svirski held that he was not yet en- 
tirely normal. He was healthy; he slept and ate well; he 
had grown a little heavier; he spoke with judgment, even 
more deliberately than had been his habit,—but there 
appeared in him a certain infirmity of will, a certain lack 
of that initiative for which he had been so distinguished 
before. In Italy he grew radiant at remembrance of Panna 
Ratkovski; and when he spoke of her his eyes filled with 
tears at times. On his return, when some one reminded him 
that it would be well to make a visit to Panna Ratkovski, 
and especially when that one offered to go with him, he 
answered, “It is true,” and he went with delight. But the 
visit made, it seemed as though he did not remember her 
existence. At times it was evident that in the depth of 
his soul something was troubling him, swallowing all his 
mental force. Svirski supposed for a while that it might 
be the remembrance of Panna Castelli; but he convinced 
himself, with a certain astonishment, that it was not, and 
at last he began to think that Pan Ignas never mentioned 
her because he had lost the feeling that she was real, or 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 649 


that she seemed to him now an impression so remote, a 
remembrance so blown apart, that it could not be brought 
into a real living whole, He was not melancholy, On 
the contrary, one might note at times in him satisfaction 
with life and the joy which he experienced, as it were, in 
this his second birth in it. Really sad, more and more 
confined in herself, and increasingly quiet, was Panna 
Ratkovski. It may be that, besides a lack of mutual feel- 
ing, other things in Pan Ignas alarmed her; but she did 
- not mention those alarms to any one. Marynia and Pani 
Bigiel, judging that the only cause of her sadness was the 
conduct of Pan Ignas, showed the most heartfelt sympathy, 
and were ready to do anything to help her. Marynia saw 
Pan Ignas now for the first time since his return from 
Italy; but Pani Bigiel spoke to him daily, praising Panna 
Ratkovski, reminding him how much he owed her, and 
giving him to understand more and more clearly that it was 
his duty to pay something of the debt which he owed her. 
The honest Svirski, to the detriment of his own hopes, 
repeated the same to him; and Pan Ignas agreed to every- 
thing, but, as it were, unwillingly, or without being able 
to add the final conclusion. He spoke of his approaching 
second trip abroad, of plans of still greater journeys in the 
future, —in a word, of things which, by their nature, 
excluded the co-operation of Panna Ratkoyski. 

And now, sitting side by side, they spoke little to each 
other. Pan Ignas ate abundantly, and with appetite, even 
with attention; he followed with his eyes the new courses 
which were served first to the elder guests. Panna Rat- 
kovski, noticing this, looked on him at moments, as if with 
painful sympathy. At last this began to vex Marynia; so, 
wishing to rouse a conversation between them, she said, 
bending over the table, — 

“You have come so recently from travels, tell me and 
Steftsia something of Italy. Hast thou never been there, 
Steftsia ? ” 

“T have not,” answered Panna Ratkovski; “but not long 
since I read the account of a journey — but to read and to 
see are different.” 

And she blushed slightly, for she had betrayed the fact 
that she had been reading about Italy just when Pan Ignas 
was there. eas 

“Pan Svirski persuaded me to go as far as Sicily,’ said 
he, “but it was hot there at that time; that would be the 
place to visit at this season.” 


650 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“Ah!” said Marynia, “it is well that I think of it— 
but my letters? You asked through Pan Svirski if I 
wished you to write your impressions, but afterward I did 
not receive a single letter.” 

Pan Ignas blushed; he was confused, and then in a kind 
of strange and uncertain voice, answered, — 

“No, for I have not been able yet; I will write very 
much, but later.” 

Having heard these words, Svirski approached Marynia 
after lunch, and indicating Pan Ignas with his eyes, 
said, — 

“Do you know the impression which he makes on me 
sometimes ? — that of a costly vessel which is cracked.” 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 651 


CHAPTER LXVII. 


A COUPLE of days after the christening, Svirski visited 
Pan Stanislav in the counting-house, to inquire for Mary- 
nia’s health, and to talk about various things which lay at 
his heart. Seeing, however, that he was late. and that Pan 
Stanislav was preparing to go, he said, — st 
_“Do not stop for me. Let us talk on the street. The 
light is so sharp to-day that I cannot work; therefore I 
will walk to your door with you.” 

“In every case I should have been forced to beg your 

9) 1 a! = ; . 
pardon,” said Pan Stanislav. “My Marynia goes out to- 
day for the first time, and we are to dine with the Bigiels. 
She must be dressed by this time, but we have twenty 
minutes yet.” 4 

“ As she goes out, she is well ?” 

“Praise be to God, as well as a bird!” answered Pan 
Stanislav, with delight. 

“ And the little Aryan ?” 

“The little Aryan bears himself stoutly.” 

“O happy man, if I had such a toad at home, not to 
mention such a wife, I should not know what to do — un- 
less to walk upon house-tops.” 

“You will not believe how that boy takes my heart. 
Every day more, and in general, in a way that I did not 
expect, for you must know that I wanted a daughter.” 

“It is not evening yet; the daughter will come. But 
you are in a hurry; let us go then.” 

Pan Stanislav took his fur coat, and they went to the 
street. The day was frosty, clear. Around was heard the 
hurried sound of sleigh-bells. Men had their collars over 
their ears, their mustaches were frosty, and they threw 
columns of steam from their mouths. 

“Tt is a gladsome sort of day,” said Pan Stanislav. “I 
rejoice, for my Marynia’s sake, that it is clear.” 

“Tt is gladsome for you in life; therefore everything 
seems clear to you,” said Svirski, taking him by the arm. 
But all at once he dropped the arm, and stopping the 
way, said, with an expression as if he wished to quarrel, — 


652 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“Do you know that you have the most beautiful woman 
in Warsaw as wife? It is I who tell you this —I!” 

And he began to strike his breast with his hand as if te 
increase thereby the certainty that it was he and no one 
else who was speaking thus, 

“Of course!” answered Pan Stanislav, laughing, “and 
also the best and most honest on earth; but let us go on, 
for it is cold.” 

When Svirski took him again by the arm, Pan Stanislav 
added with some emotion, — 

“ But what I went through during her sickness, the Lord 
God alone knows— Better not mention it— She gave 
me a surprise simply by her return to life; but if God 
grants me to live till spring, I will give a surprise that will 
gladden her.” 

“ There is nothing with which to compare her,” answered 
Svirski. 

Then, halting again, he said, as if in astonishment, “ And, 
as I love God, so much simplicity at the same time.” 

They walked on a while in silence, then Pan Stanislav 
asked Svirski of his journey. 

“T shall stay three weeks in Florence,’ answered the 
artist. ‘I have some work there. Besides, I have grown 
homesick for the light on San Miniato and Ginevra, with 
which, and with Cimabue, I was in love on a time. Do 
you remember in Santa Maria Novella, in the chapel of 
Rucellai? After a three weeks’ stay I shall go to Rome. 
I wanted to talk with you about the journey, for this morn- 
ing Pan Ignas came to me with the proposition that we 
should go again together.” 

“ Ah! and did you agree ? ” 

“JT had not the heart to refuse, though, between our- 
selves, he is sometimes a burden. But you know how I 
loved him, and how I felt for him, so it is hard for me 
to say it, but he is burdensome occasionally. What is to be 
said in this case? he is changed immensely. At the 
christening I told Pani Polanyetski that at times he seems 
to me lke a costly vessel which is cracked; and that is 
true. For I saw how he struggled over those letters, in 
which he wished to describe Italy for her. He walked 
whole hours through the room, rubbed his shot forehead, 
sat down, stood up; but the paper remained just as it was, 
untouched. God grant him to recover his former power. 
At present he repeats to every one that he will write; but 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 653 


he begins to doubt himself, and to grieve. I know that he 
grieves. 

“The loss of his power would be a misfortune both for 
him and Panna Helena. If you knew how she was con- 
cerned to the verge of despair, not only for his life. but 
his talent.” f ; 

“ The loss of that would be a public misfortune; but the 
person for whom I am most sorry is Panna Ratkovski. 
She too begins to doubt whether he will be what he was, 
and that tortures her, perhaps, more than other griefs.” 

“Poor girl!” said Pan Stanislav, “and the more so since 
from all his plans of travelling one thing is clear, that he 
does not even think of her. It is fortunate that Panna 
Helena secured her independence.” 

“T will wait a year,” answered Svirski, “and after a year 
I will propose a second time. She has taken hold of me, 
itis not to be denied! Have you noticed how becoming 
short hair is to her? She ought to wear it that way always. 
I will wait a year,” and he was silent; “but after that 
I shall consider my hands free. It is not possible either 
that in her something will not change in a year, especially 
if he gives no sign of life. All this is wonderfully strange. 
Do you think that I do not do everything in my power to 
blow into life some spark for her? As God is true, a man 
has never done more against his own heart than I have. 
Pani Bigiel too does what she can. But it is difficult. 
Again, no one has the right to say to him expressly: marry ! 
if he does not love her. And this is the more wonderful, 
since he does not seem even to think of the other. One 
Panna Ratkovski is worth more than a whole grove of such 
‘Poplars ;’ but that is another affair! For me the point is 
that she should not suppose that I am taking him away 
purposely. I have not dissuaded him, for I could not; but, 
my dear sir, should there ever be a conversation about our 
journey, say to her that, as God lives, I did not persuade 
Pan Ignas to the journey, and that I would give more than 
she supposes to make her happy, even were it at the cost of 
an old dog like me.” 

“Of course we shall do so.” 

“Thank you for that. Before going, I shall be with you 
again to say good-by to Pani Polanyetski.”’ 

“ Surely in the evening, so that we may sit longer. I think 
too that you will return in summer; you and Pan Ignas will 
spend some time with us.” 


654 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“Tn Buchynek ?” 

“Tn Buchynek or not, that is unknown yet.” 

Further conversation was interrupted by the sight of 
Osnovski, who at that moment was coming out of a fruit- 
shop, with a white package in his hand. 

** See, there is Osnovski!” said Svirski. 

“ How changed!” said Pan Stanislav. 

And indeed he was changed immensely. From under his 
fur cap gazed a pale face, grown yellow, and, as it were, 
much older. His fur coat seemed to hangon him. Seeing 
his two friends, he was vexed; it was evident that for a 
while he hesitated whether or not to go around, pretending 
that he did not see them. But the sidewalk was empty, 
and they had come so near that he changed his intention, 
and, coming up, began to speak with unnatural haste, as 
if wishing to cover with talk that of which all three were 
thinking exclusively. 

“A good day to you, gentlemen! Oh, this is a chance 
that we meet, for | am shut up in Prytulov, and come rarely 
to the city. I have just bought some grapes, for the doctor 
orders me to eat grapes. But they are imported in saw- 
dust, and have the odor of it; I thought they would 
be better here. There is frost to-day, indeed. In the 
country sleighing is perfect.” 

And they walked on together, all feeling awkward. 

“You are going to Egypt, are you not?” inquired Pan 
Stanislav at last. 

“That is my old plan, and perhaps I shall go. In the 
country there is nothing to do in winter; it is tedious to be 
alone there.” 

Here he stopped suddenly, for he saw that he was touching 
a delicate subject. And they went on in a silence still more 
oppressive, feeling that unspeakable awkwardness which is 
felt always when, by some tacit agreement, people talk of 
things of no interest, while hiding the main ones, which 
are painful. Osnovski would have been glad to leave his 
two friends; but people accustomed for long years to observe 
certain forms pay attention to appearances unconsciously, 
even in the deepest misfortune, hence he wanted to find 
some easy and natural means of leaving Pan Stanislav and 
the artist; but not being able to find it, he merely continued 
the awkward position. Finally, he began to take farewell 
of them in the unexpected and unnatural way of a man 
who has lost his head. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL, 655 

At the last moment, however, he determined otherwise. 
Such a comedy seemed to him unendurable. He had had 
enough of it. It flashed into his head that he ought not to 
make a secret of anything; that in avoidance ‘of every 
mention of misfortune there is something abject. On his 
face constraint was clear, and suffering; but, halting, he 
began to say with a broken voice, losing breath every 
moment, — 7 

“ Gentlemen, I beg pardon for detaining you longer. But 
you know that I have separated from my wife —I do not 
see any reason why I should not speak of it, especially with 
persons so honorable and so near —I declare to you, gentle- 
men, that that was — that that happened so — that is, that 
I wished it myself, and that to my wife nothing 

But the voice stuck in his throat, and he could not speak 
further. Evidently he wanted to take the fault on himself; 
but on a sudden he felt all the incredibility, all the extent 
and desperate emptiness of a lie like that, which must be a 
mere sound of words, so that not even the feeling of any 
duty, nor any social appearance could justify him. And, 
losing his head altogether, he went into the crowd, bearing 
with him his grapes and unfathomable misfortune. 

Svirski and Pan Stanislav went on in silence under the 
impression of this misfortune. 

“As God is true,” said Pan Stanislav at length, “his 
heart is breaking.” 

“ For such a man,” answered the artist, “there is nothing 
except to wish death.” 

“ And still he has not deserved such a fate.” 

“T give you my word,” said Svirski, ‘‘ whenever I think 
of him, I see him kissing her hands. He did it so often 
that I cannot imagine him otherwise. And what sets me 
to thinking again is this, that misfortune, like death, severs 
the relations of people, or if it does not sever relations com- 
pletely, it estranges people. You have not known him long, 
but I, for example, lived on intimate terms with him, and 


_now he is to me somehow farther away, while I am to him 


more a stranger; there is no help in this case, and that is 
so sad.” 

“Sad and wonderful —” 

But Svirski stopped on a sudden, and exclaimed, — 

“Do you know what? May a thunderbolt burn that 
Pani Osnovski! Panna Helena said that it was not per- 
mitted to despair of a man while he was living; but as to 
that one, let a thunderbolt shake her!” 


656 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


«There was not in the world, perhaps, a woman more 
worshipped than she,” said Pan Stanislav. 

“There you have them,” answered Svirski, passionately. 
«“ Women, taking them in general — ” 

But all at once he struck his glove across his mouth. 

“No!” eried he. “To the devil with my old fault! I 
have promised myself not to make any general conclusions 
about women.” 

-“T said that he worshipped her,” continued Pan Stanis- 
lav, “because now I simply do not understand how he can 
live without her.” 

“ But he must.” 

Osnovski was forced really to live without his wife, but 
he was not able. In Prytulov and in Warsaw, which were 
full of reminiscences of her, life soon became for him unen- 
durable ; hence a month later he started on a journey. But, 
already out of health when he left Warsaw, he caught cold 
in an over-heated car, and in Vienna fell so ill that he had 
to take to his bed. ‘The cold, which at first was considered 
influenza, turned into a violent typhus. After a few days 
the sick man lost consciousness, and lay in a hotel at the 
mercy of strange doctors and strange people, far from home 
and his friends. But afterward in the fever which heated 
his brain and confused his thoughts it seemed to him that 
he saw near his bedside the face dearest in life to him, 
beloved at all times, beloved in loneliness, in sickness, and 
in presence of death. It seemed to him that he saw it even 
when he had regained consciousness, but was so weak that 
he could not move yet, nor speak, nor even arrange his own 
thoughts. 

Later the vision disappeared. But he began to inquire 
about it from the Sisters of Charity, who were sent, it was 
unknown by whom, and who surrounded him with the most 
tender care; and he began to yearn beyond measure. 


? 


a CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 657 


CHAPTER LXVIIL. 


Arter the solemnity of the christening, and after the 
departure of Svirski and Pan Ignas, the Polanyetskis 
began to live again a secluded and home life, seeing 
scarcely any one except the Bigiels, Pani Emilia, and 
Vaskovski. But it was pleasant for them in that narrow 
_eirele of near friends, and pleasantest of all with them- 
selves. Pan Stanislav was greatly occupied ; he sat long 
in the counting-house and outside the counting-house, 
settling some business of which no one else knew any thing. 
But, after finishing his work, he hurried home now with 
greater haste than when, as betrothed, he flew every day 
to the lodgings of the Plavitskis. His old liveliness re- 
turned, his old humor and confidence in life. Soon he 
made a discovery which seemed to him wonderful, — 
namely, that not only did he love his wife with all his 
power as his wife and the one dearest to him, but that he 
was in love with her as a woman, without alarm or effort, it 
is true, without transitions from joy to doubts and despair, 
but with all the emotions of sincere feeling, with a whole 
movement of desire, with a continually uniform fresh 
sensitiveness to her feminine charm, and with an untiring 
care, which watches, foresees, acts, anticipates, wishes, 
and strives continually not to injure happiness, and not 
to lose it. “I shall change into an Osnovski,” said he, 
humorously; ‘‘but to me alone is it permitted to be an 
Osnovski, because my little one will never become a Pani 
Aneta.” He said “my little one” to her often now, but 
there was in that as much respect as petting. He under- 
stood, too, that he never should have loved her so, if she 
had been other than she was; that all was the result of 
her immense, honest will, and of that sort of wonderful 
rectitude which issued from her as naturally as heat from 
a hearth. Pan Stanislav knew that his mind was the more 
active, his thought the more far-reaching, and his knowledge 
profounder than her knowledge; still he felt that through 
her, and through her alone, all that which was in him 
had become in some way more finished and more noble. 
~ Through her influence all those principles acquired by him 
42 





658 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


passed from his head, where they had been a dead theory, 
to his heart, where they became active life. He noticed, 
too, that not only happiness, but he himself was her work. 
There was in this even a little disillusion for him, since 
he saw, without any doubt, that had he found some common 
kind of woman he might have turned out some common kind 
of man. At times he wondered even how she could have 
loved him; but he called to mind then her expression, “ser- 
vice of God,” and that explained to him everything. For 
such a woman marriage, too, was ‘‘service of God,” as was 
love also, not by some wild power lying beyond the will of 
people, but precisely by an act of honest will, by serving 
an oath, by serving God’s law, by serving duty. Marynia 
loved him because he was her husband. Such was she, 
and that was the end of the question! For a long time 
Pan Stanislav was not able to see that all that which he 
worshipped in her was enjoined directly by the first cate- 
chism which one might take up, and that in her training 
had not killed the catechism. Perhaps she had not been 
reared with sufficient care; but she had been taught that 
she must serve God, and not use God to serve herself. 

Pan Stanislav, not understanding well the reasons why 
she was what she was, admired her increasingly, honored 
and loved her. As to her, while taking things without 
exaggeration, she did not conceive an excessive opinion of 
herself; she understood, however, that life had never been 
so pleasant for her as it then was; that she had passed 
through certain trials; that during those trials she had 
acted honorably; that she had endured the trials with 
patience; that the Lord God had rewarded her. And this 
feeling filled her with peace. Her health came back com- 
pletely; she felt, therewith, very pleasant, and very much 
beloved. ‘That “Stas,” whom formerly she had feared a 
little, inclined his dark head frequently to her knees with 
submissiveness almost; and she thought with delight that 
“that man was not at all bending by nature, and that if 
he did bend, it was because he loved much.” And she just 
grew every day. Gratitude rose in her, and she paid him 
for his love with her whole heart. 

The young “ Aryan” filled his réle of a ray in the house 
splendidly. Sometimes it was, indeed, a ray connected 
with noise; but when he was in good-humor, and when, 
lying in his favorite position, with his legs raised at right 
angles, he drew cries of delight from himself, all the male 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIT, 659 


and female population of the house gathered around his 
eradle. Marynia covered his legs, calling him “naughty 
boy; ” but he pulled off the cover every instant thinking 
evidently, that if a man of character has determined to 
kick, he should hold out in his undertaking bravely, He 
laughed while he kicked, showing his little toothles: 
crowing, twittering like a sparrow, cooing like a dove, or 
mewing like a cat. On such occasions his nurse and mother 
talked for whole hours with him. Professor Vaskovski 
who had lost his head over the hoy altogether, maintained 
with perfect seriousness that that was an “esoteric speech ,” 
which should be phonographed by scientists, for it might 
either disclose thoroughly the mystery of astral existence, 
or, at least, touch on its main indications. 

In this way the winter months passed in the house of 
the Polanyetskis. In January, Pan Stanislav began to 
make journeys on some business, and after each return he 
had long consultations with Bigiel. But from the middle 
of January he stayed at home permanently, never going 
out, unless to the counting-house, or to take short exeur- 
sions with Marynia and Stas in the carriage. The uni- 
formity of their life, or rather the uniformity of its 
calmness and happiness, was interrupted only by news of 
acquaintances in the city, brought most frequently by 
Pani Bigiel. In this way Marynia learned that Panna 
Ratkovski, who, of late, had not shown herself anywhere, 
had established a refuge for children from the income 
secured her by Panna Helena, and that Osnovski had gone 
really to Egypt, not alone, however, but with his “ Anetka,” 
with whom, after returning to health, he reunited him- 
self. Pan Kresovski, the former second of Mashko, had 
seen them in Trieste, and declared to Pan Stanislav ironi- 
eally that “the lady had the look of a submissive penitent.” 
Pan Stanislav, knowing from experience how a person is 
crushed in misfortune, and what sincerity there may be in 
penitence, replied with perfect seriousness that since her 
husband had received Pani Osnovski, no decent man had a 
right to be more exacting than he was. 

But later news came from Italy which was more wonder- 
ful, and so unheard of that it became the subject of talk, 
not only for the Polanyetskis and the Bigiels, but the whole 
city, —namely, that the artist Svirski had asked in Rome 
for the hand of Panna Castelli, and that they would be 
married immediately after Easter. Marynia was so much 


gums, 


660 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


roused by this that she persuaded her husband to write to 
Svirski and ask if it were true. An answer came in ten 
days; and waen Pan Stanislav entered his wife’s room at 
last with the letter, holding it by the corner of the en- 
velope, and with the words, “Letter from Rome!” the 
serious Marynia ran up to him, with cheeks red from 
curiosity, and the two, standing temple to temple, read as 
follows : — 


“Ts it true? No, dear friends, it is not true! But that you 
should understand why that could not take place, and can never take 
place, I must speak to you of Pan Ignas. He came here three days 
since. First I persuaded him to remain in Florence, then to glance 
at Sienna, Parma, and especially Ravenna. Thence I send him to 
Athens, and to-morrow he will go by way of Brindisi. Meanwhile 
he sat with me from morning till evening. I saw that something was 
troubling the man, and wishing to turn direct conversation to things 
which concerned him more closely, I asked yesterday carelessly if he 
had not in his portfolio a half a dozen sonnets on Ravenna. And 
do you know what took place? At first he grew pale, and answered, 
‘Not yet,’ but added that he would begin to write soon; then he 
threw his hat on the floor suddenly, and began to sob like a child. 
Never have I seen an outburst of similar suffering. He just wrung 
his hands, saying that he had murdered his talent; that there was 
nothing more left in him; that never would he have power to write 
another line; that he would prefer a hundred times that Panna 
Helena had not saved him. You see what is happening within him; 
while people will say, surely, that he does not write because he has 
money. And this, beyond doubt, will remain so. ‘They have killed 
the poor man, murdered soul and talent in him, put out the strong 
fire from which light and warmth might have come to people. And 
that, see you, I could not forget. God be with Panna Castelli! but it 
was not right for her to pluck such feathers to make for herself a 
fan, which she threw out of the window soon after. No! I could not 
forget this! Never mind what I said in Warsaw, that now she must 
find a Prince Crapulescu, since no one else will take her; for, besides 
that kind, there are blind men in the world also, — plenty of them. 
As to me, I am neither Prince Crapulescu, nor blind. It is per- 
mitted to forgive wrongs done to one’s self, but not those done to 
others ; for that would be too easy. And this is all that I can tell 
you touching this matter, for you yourselves know the rest. I am 
waiting out the year ; then I shall repeat my prayer to Panna Rat- 
kovski. If she wants me, or rejects me, may God bless her in every 
case; but still that is my unchangeable decision.” 


“Tndeed!” interrupted Marynia; “but whence did such 
news come?” 

But in the continuation of the letter Svirski gave an 
exact answer. 


—_” 


oe ee 


" 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 661 


“ All this gossip” (wrote he), “may have arisen from this, that | 
have seen those ladies rather often. You remember that, during my 
former stay in Rome, Pani Bronich wrote to me first, and | was with 
them. Panna Castelli, instead of seeking evasions, blamed herself, 
I confess that that affected me. Let people say what they like, still 
in an open confession of fault there is acertain awakening of honesty, 
a certain courage, a certain turn, a groan of sorrow, which, if it does 
not redeem the offence, may redeem the soul. And believe me that 
in this which I say there is more than my heart of butter. ‘Think, 
also, that in truth it is evil for them. Are the times few in which 
I have seen the hesitation with which they approach people, and 
how they are received by persons who have the courage of their 
principles? So much bitterness has gathered in these two women, 
that, as Vaskovski said with truth once, they are beginning to be 
embittered against themselves. ‘That is a terrible position, in which 
one belongs, as it were, to the world, and carries the burden of a 
notable scandal. God be with them! Much might be written of 
this; but I remember always what Panna Helena said, — that one 
must not despair of a man while he lives. That unfortunate Lineta 
has changed from grief; she has grown thin and ugly, and I am 
very sorry for her. I am sorry even for Pani Bronich, who, it is 
true, bores holes in people’s ears with her lies; but she does it out of 
attachment to that girl. Still, as I have said, it is permitted only to 
forgive wrongs done ourselves; but a man would be a kind of gorilla, 
and not a Christian, if he did not feel a little pity over the misfor- 
tunes of people. Whether I shall have the heart to go to them 
again after having seen the despair of Ignas, I know not. I am not 
sorry, however, that I was there. People will talk; they will stop 
talking; and after a year or so, if God grant me and that dear 
maiden to wait it out, they will see that they are talking nonsense.” 


The letter finished with a reference to the Osnovyskis, of 
whose reunion Svirski knew; he had heard, even, various 
details which were unknown to Pan Stanislav. 


“ To think ” (wrote he) “‘ that God is more powerful than the per- 
versity of man, and also is fabulously merciful, and that sometimes 
He permits misfortune to beat a man on the head as with a hammer, 
so as to knock some spark of honesty out of him. I believe now 
even in the rebirth of such as Pani Aneta. Maybe it is naive in me, 
but at times I admit that there are no people in the world who are 
completely bad. See, something quivered in Pani Aneta even; she 
nursed him in his sickness. Oi, those women! Everything is se 
turned around in my head that soon I shall not have an opinion, not 
merely about them, but about anything.” 


Further on were questions about Stas, and heartfelt words 
for his life-givers, and finally a promise to return in the 
first days of spring. 


Os 
for) 
bo 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


CHAPTER LXIX. 


Bor spring was coming really, and, besides, it was as warm’ 
as it was early. Pan Stanislav, at the end of March and 
the beginning of April, began again to make journeys, and 
sometimes to spend a number of days away from home. 
He and Bigiel were so busied that often they remained in 
the counting-house till late in the evening. Pani Bigiel 
supposed that they must be undertaking something large ; 
but it astonished her that her husband, who always spoke 
with her about his business, and almost thought aloud in 
her presence, and even frequently took counsel with her, 
was as silent now as if spell-bound. Marynia noticed also 
that “Stas” had his head filled with something in an 
unusual manner. He was more tender toward her than 
ever; but 1t seemed to her that in that tenderness of his, as 
well as in every conversation and every petting, there was 
some third thing, another thought, which occupied him so 
thoroughly that he could not keep away from it even a 
moment. And this state of distraction increased daily till 
the beginning of May, when it passed into something 
feverish. Marynia began to hesitate whether to ask or 
not, what the matter was. She was a little afraid to 
intrude; but for her it was important also that he should 
not think that his affairs concerned her too little. In this 
uncertainty, she determined to wait for a favorable mo- 
ment, hoping that he himself would begin to touch on his 
business, even remotely. 

In fact, it seemed to her, on a certain day soon after, 
that the opportune moment had come. Pan Stanislav re- 
turned from the counting-house earler than usual, and 
with a face in some way wonderfully radiant, though seri- 
ous, so that, looking him in the eyes, she asked, almost 
mechanically, - 

“Something favorable must have happened, Stas ?” 

He sat near her, and instead of answering directly, 
began to talk with a voice which was strange in some 
sort, — 

“See how calm and warm. The windows might be 
opened now. Dost thou know what I’ve been thinking 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 668 


of these last days ? That for thy health and Stas’s we 
ought to go soon from the city.” 

“But is not Buchynek rented ?” asked Marynia, 

“Buchynek is sold,” answered he. ‘Then, taking both 
her hands and looking into her eyes With immense affec: 
tion, he said, — 

“ Listen, my dear, I have something to tell thee, 
something which ought to please thee; but 
be excited too much.” 

Well, what is it, Stas?” 

“Seest thou, my little one? Mashko fled to foreign parts ; 
for he had more debts than property. His creditors threw 
themselves on everything which was left after him. so as 
to recover even something. Everything went into liquida- 
tion. Magyerovka has been parcelled, and is lost: but 
Kremen, Skoki, and Suhotsin could’ be saved. Do not 
grow excited, my love; I have bought them for thee.” 

Marynia looked at him some time, blinking, and as if 
not believing her ears. But no! He was so moved him- 
self that he could not jest. Her eyes were darkened with 
tears, and all at once she threw both arms around his neck. 

“Stas!” 

And at that moment she could not find other words; but 
in this one exclamation there were thanks and great love, 
and a woman’s homage for the efficiency of that man who 
had been able to do everything. Pan Stanislav understood 
this; and in the feeling of that immense happiness which 
he had not known hitherto, he began to speak, holding her 
still at his breast, — 

“T knew that this would comfort thee, and God knows 
there is no greater pleasure for me than thy delight. I re- 
membered that thou wert sorry for Kremen, that that was 
an injustice to thee, and that it was possible to correct it; 
therefore I corrected it. But that is nothing! If I had 
bought ten such Kremens for thee, I should not have repaid 
thee for the good which thou hast done me, and still I 
should not be worthy of thee.” 

And he spoke sincerely ; but Marynia removed her head 
from his shoulder, and, raising on him her eyes, which 
were at once moist and bright, said, — 

“Tt is I, Stas, that am not worthy of thee; and I did not 
even hope to be so happy.” 

Then they began to dispute who was the more worthy; 
but in that dispute there were frequent intervals of silence, 


and 
promise not to 


664 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


for Marynia, every moment embracing him, pushed up to 
him her mouth, beautiful, though a httle too wide, and 
kissed him; and then he kissed in turn her eyes and her 
hands. For a long time yet she wanted now to cry, now 
to laugh from delight; for really her happiness surpassed 
everything which she had ever hoped for. Her mother had 
written once, with a weakening hand, “One should not 
marry to be happy, but to fulfil the duties which God 
imposes ; happiness is only an addition and a gift of God.” 
Meanwhile this addition was now too great to find place in 
her heart. There had been trials, there had been moments 
of grief to her, and even of doubt; but all had passed, and 
at last that “Stas ’ not only loved her as the sight of his 
eye, but he had done more than he had ever promised. 

And at that moment, while walking with long strides 
through the room, still excited, but pleased with himself, 
and with an expression of complete boastfulness on his 
dark, challenging face, he said, — 

“Well, Marys!! Now for the first time will work begin, 
will it not? For I have n’t the least idea of country life. 
and that will be thy affair. But I think that I shall not 
be the worst of managers. We shall both work, for that 
Kremen is a big undertaking.” 

‘‘My golden Stas,” answered she, clasping her hands, 
“JT know that thou hast done that for me; but will it not 
injure thee in business? ” 

“In business? It is thy idea, perhaps, that I let myself 
be stripped. Not at all! I bought cheaply, very cheaply. 
Bigiel, who is afraid of everything, still confesses that that 
is a good purchase; besides, I remain in company with 
him for the future. But only be not afraid of Kremen, 
Marys, or the old troubles. There will be something to 
work with; and I tell thee sincerely that if to-day all 
Kremen were to sink in the earth, we should have enough 
to support us, together with Stas.” 

“T,” said Marynia, looking at him more or less as she 
would on Napoleon, or some other conqueror of similar 
size, ‘am certain that thou wilt do all that thou wishest, 
but I know that it was only for me that Kremen was 
bought.” 

“And I hope that I bought it, too, because thy mother 
is lying there, because I love thee, and because thou lovest 


1 Pronounced Mérees, a diminutive of Marynia. 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 665 
Kremen,” answered Pan Stanislav. “But in thy way thou 
hast brought me back to the soil. I recall thy words in 
Venice when Mashko wanted to sell Kremen to Bukatski 
Thou hast no idea of how I am under thy influence. 
Sometimes thou wilt say a thing, and I for the moment 
make no answer; still it remains in me, and later it is 
heard unexpectedly. So it was in this business. It seems 
strange to me now for a man to dwell on this planet, to 
have some wealth, as it were, and not have three square 
ells of this earth, concerning which he might say ‘ mine.’ 
Then the question was settled. Then came the purchase. 
Perhaps thou hast noticed that for some months I have 
been buzzing about like a fly in a caldron. I did not wish 
to speak to thee till all was finished; I preferred a sur- 
prise. And thou hast it! This is because thou hast 
recovered, and art so beloved.” 

Here he seized her hands, and began to press them again 
to his mouth and his forehead. She wanted to kiss his 
hands, too, but he would not permit that; and at last they 
began to run after each other, like children, through the 
room, speaking to each other words which were kindly, 
and bright as sunbeams. Marynia wanted so much to go 
straight to Kremen, and to such a degree was she unable 
to think of aught else, that at last he threatened to grow 
jealous of Kremen, and to sell it. 

“Qi! thou wilt not sell,” said she, shaking her head. 

“Why not?” 

“Because,” said she, taking his ear, and whispering into 
it, “thou lovest me.” 

And he began to nod in sign that that was true. But 
they agreed, to the great delight of Marynia, to go with 
their whole household to Kremen at the end of the week, 
—a, thing perfectly possible, for Pan Stanislav had made 
the house ready for the coming of the “heiress.” He 
assured her, too, that almost nothing had changed, and 
he had tried only that the rooms should not seem too 
empty; then he began to laugh suddenly, and said, “T am 
curious to know what papa will say to this.” 

The conjectural astonishment of “papa” was a new cause 
of delight to Marynia. For that matter, there was no need 
to wait long for Plavitski, since he came to dinner half an 
hour later. He had barely showed himself when Marynia, 
throwing herself on his shoulder, told with one breath the 
happy news; he was really astonished, and even moved. 


666 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


Perhaps he felt the happiness of his daughter; perhaps 
there was roused in him an attachment for that corner, in 
which he had lived so many years; it is enough that his 
eyes grew moist. First he mentioned his sweat, with which 
that soil was soaked; then he began to say something of the 
“old man,” and of his ‘‘refuge in the country;” at last, 
pressing Pan Stanislav’s head between his palms, he 
said, — 

“God grant thee luck to manage as well as I have 
managed, and be assured that I shall not refuse thee 
either my assistance or my counsels.” 

In the evening, at the Bigiels’, Marynia, still intoxicated 
with her happiness, said to Pani Bigiel, — 

‘*Well, now, tell me, how could I help loving a man 
like that?” 








» CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 667 


CHAPTER LXX. 


Next morning after the arrival of the Polanyetskis in 
Kremen, it was Sunday. Pan Stanislav himself rose late, 
for they had come at one o’clock the night previous. In 
Kremen the servants had been waiting with bread and salt 
for them. Marynia, laughing and weeping in turn, ex- 
amined every corner in the house, and after that was unable 
to fall asleep, from emotion, till almost daylight. Tor all 
these reasons Pan Stanislav did not permit her to rise; but 
since she wanted to go to Mass at Vantory rather early, so 
as to pray at the church for her mother, he promised to 
have the carriage ready, and let her know when it was 
time. Immediately after breakfast he went out to look at 
his new inheritance. It was the second half of May, and 
the day was exceptionally beautiful. Rain had fallen in 
the night, and the sun was shining on little pools in the 
yard; and on the buildings it was reflected in diamond 
brightness in raindrops hanging on the leaves, and it made 
the wet roofs of the barns, cow-houses, and sheep-houses 
gleam. In that glitter, and in the bright May green of 
the trees, Kremen seemed altogether charming. Around 
the buildings there was hardly any movement, for it was 
Sunday; but at the stable were busied some men, who had 
to drive to church. ‘This silence and sleepiness struck 
Pan Stanislav strangely. Having intended for some time to 
buy Kremen, he had been there repeatedly, and knew that 
it was aneglected property. Mashko had begun, it is true, 
to build a granary, which was covered with a red roof, but 
he had not finished it. He had never lived in the place 
himself, and toward the end could not expend anything on 
the property, hence neglect was visible at every step. But 
never had it seemed to Pan Stanislav neglected so absolutely 
as now, when he was able to say to himself, “ This is mine.” 
The buildings were somehow leaning; the walls in them 
not very solid; the fences were inclining and broken; under 
the walls were lying fragments of various broken agricul- 
tural implements. Everywhere the earth seemed desirous 
of drawing into itself that which was on its surface; every 
where was seen a kind of passive abandonment of things 


668 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


to themselves; everywhere carelessness was visible. Of 
agriculture Pan Stanislav knew only this, that there was 
need to be careful in expenses; for the rest, he had not 
the least conception of it, save some general information, 
which had struck his ears in childhood. But, looking at 
his kingdom, he divined that cultivation of its fields must 
coincide exactly with that carelessness which he saw 
around; he had a clear feeling that if anything was done 
there it was rather from custom, from routine, as it were, 
and because of this alone, that some such thing had been 
done ten, twenty, a hundred years earlier. That exertion, 
that untiring, watchful energy, which is the basis of com- 
merce, of industry, and of city industry in general, — of 
that there was notatrace. “If I brought nothing more than 
that to this torpor,” said Pan Stanislav, “it would be very 
much, for there is an absolute lack of energy. Besides, 
I have money, and at least this much knowledge, — that bi 
know to begin with that I know nothing, and second, I 
know that I must learn and inquire.” He remembered, 
besides, from his Belgian times, that even abroad, even 
there in Belgium, the spirit of man and the exertion of 
will meant more than the most powerful machines. And 
in this regard he counted on himself, and he was able to 
count. He felt that he was a persistent and active man. 
Everything taken in hand by him hitherto had to move, 
whether it would or not. He felt, besides, that in busi- 
ness he had a head that was not fantastic, but one reckon- 
ing accurately; and, thanks to this feeling, not only did 
he not lose confidence at sight of the neglect which he saw 
before him, but he found in it something like a spur. 
That torpor, that neglect, that inertia, that sleepiness, 
seemed to challenge him; and, casting his eyes around, he 
said to them almost with pleasure, ‘‘That’s all right; we Il 
have a trial!” And he was even in a hurry for the trial. 

These first reviews and thoughts did not spoil his humor, 
but took much time. Looking at his watch, he saw that if 
he wished to be in Vantory for Mass, it was time to start 
at once; giving the order, then, to attach the horses, he 
returned hastily to the house, and knocked at Marynia’s 
door. 

“Tady heiress!” called he, “the service of God!” 

“Yes, yes!” answered the gladsome voice of Marynia 
through the door, “I am ready.” 

Pan Stanislav went in, and saw her in a light summer 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 669 


robe, like that in which he saw her at his first visit in 
Kremen. She had dressed thus purposely; and he, to her 
great delight, understood her intention, for he exclaimed, 
stretching out his hands to her, — 

“Panna Plavitski! ” 

And she, as if embarrassed, put her nose up to his face, 
and pointed to the cradle, in which Stas was sleeping. 

Then they drove to the church with Papa Plavitski. It 
was a spring day, bright, full of warm breezes and g¢lad- 
ness. In the groves the cuckoos were calling, and on the 
fields striding ‘storks were visible. Along the road hoopoos 
and magpies flew from tree to tree before the carriage. 
From time to time a breeze sprang up and flew over the 
green fleeces, as over waves, bending the blades of grass, 
and forming quivering shades on the green of the fields. 
Around about was the odor of the soil, of grass, of spring. 
He and she were seized by a swarm of reminiscences. In 
her was called forth, though a little blunted by life in the 
city, that love of hers for land, and the country, the forest 
and green fields, the fruits in the fields, the pastures 
narrowing in the distance, the broad expanses of air, and 
that extent of the sky which is far greater than in cities. 
All this filled her with a half-conscious feeling which 
verged on the intoxication of delight. And Pan Stanislav 
remembered how once, in the same way, he had ridden to 
church with Pan Plavitski, and how, in like manner, the 
hoopoos and magpies flew from tree to tree before him. 
But now he felt at his side that rosy woman, whom he had 
seen then for the first time, —that former Panna Plavitski. 
In one word, he made present in his mind all that had 
taken place between them: the first acquaintance, and that 
eharm with which she possessed him; their later disagree- 
ment; that strange part which Litka played in their lives; 
their marriage, later life, and the hesitations of happiness; 
the changes which, under the influence of that clear spirit, 
took place i in him, and the present clearing up of life. He 
had also a blissful feeling that the evil had passed; that 
he had found more than he had dreamed of; that at present, 
it is true, misfortunes of every kind might come on him; 
but with reference to relations with her, his life had become 
clear once for all, and very honorable, almost equally the 
same as ‘‘the service of God,” and as much more sunny 
than the past as that horizon ‘which surrounded them was 
sunnier than that of the city. At this thought, happiness 


670 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


and affection for her overflowed his heart. Arriving at 
Vantory, he repeated ‘teternal repose ” for the soul of that 
mother to whom he was thankful for such a wife, with no 
less devotion than Marynia herself. It seemed to him 
that he loved that dust, buried under the church, with the 
same filial affection as the dust of his own mother. 

But now the bell sounded for Mass. In the church again 
old memories thronged into his mind. Everything around 
him was known somehow, so that at moments he felt the 
illusion that he had been there yesterday. The nave of 
the church was filled with the same gray crowd of peasants, 
and the odor of sweet flag; the same priest was celebrating 
Mass at the altar: the same birch branches, moved by the 
breeze, were striking the window from the outside; and 
Pan Stanislav thought again, as before, that everything 
passes, life passes, pains pass, hopes, impulses, pass, direc- 
tions of thought and whole systems of philosophy pass, 
but Mass, as of old, is celebrated, as if in it alone were 
eternal indestructibility. Marynia alone was a new form 
in the old picture. Pan Stanislav, looking at moments on 
her calm face, and her eyes raised to the altar, divined 
that she was praying with her whole soul for their future 
life in the country; hence he accommodated himself to her, 
and prayed with her. 

But after Mass, on the church square, neighbors sur- 
rounded them, old acquaintances of Pan Plavitski and 
Marynia. Plavitski, however, looked around in vain for 
Pani Yamish; she had been in the city for a number of 
days. Councillor Yamish was cured completely from 
eatarrh of the stomach; and therefore well, and made 
young, at the sight of Marynia he fell into genuine 
enthusiasm. 

“Here is my pupil!” cried he, kissing her hand, “the 
house mistress! my golden Marynia! Aha! the birds have 
come back to the old nest. But how beautiful she is al- 
ways, as God is true, —a young lady, just a young damsel 
to look at, though I know that there is a son in the house.” 

Marynia was blushing from delight; but at that moment 
the Zazimskis approached, with their six children, and with 
them also Pan Gantovski, called commonly “ Little Bear,” 
the former unsuccessful rival for Marynia, and the incom- 
plete slayer of Mashko. Gantovski approached awkwardly 
and with some confusion, as if dazzled by Marynia’s beauty, 
and seized with sorrow for the happiness which had missed 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 67) 


him. In-fact, Marynia greeted him with comic awkward- 
ness; but Pan Stanislav stretched his hand to him in friend- 
liness, with the magnanimity of a conqueror, and said, — 

“Oh, I find here acquaintances even from years of child- 
hood. How are you?” 

“Tn the old fashion,” answered Gantovski. 

But Pan Yamish, who was in excellent humor, said, look- 
ing teasingly at the young man, — 

“He has his cares in regulating peasant privileges.” 

Gantovski grew still more confused, for the whole neigh- 
borhood was talking of those troubles. For some years the 
poor fellow had been barely able to live in that Yalbrykov 
of his. The regulation of peasant privileges and the sell- 
ing of timber might have brought him to the open road at 
length, when in opposition to all the conditions, which 
more than once had been near settlement, there rose the 
eternal unchangeable reproach on the part of his Yalbry- 
kov neighbors that “the lord heir rides on a white horse, 
fires from pistols, and looks into the girls’ eyes.” 

Gantovski, though accustomed from years of youth to 
various country troubles, lost at times his patience and 
cried out in genuine despair, — 

‘Well, dog blood! what has one to do with the other ? 
May the brightest thunderbolts shake every one of 
you!” 

But after such a convincing dictum, the Yalbrykov peas- 
ant representatives assembled as usual a new mature coun- 
cil, and, after a careful consideration of everything, for 
and against, announced again, while scratching the backs 
of their heads, that all would be right, but that “the lord 
heir rides on a white horse, fires from pistols, and looks at 
the girls.” 

Meanwhile Marynia, who had as much attachment for 
Pan Yamish as if he had been one of the family, when she 
heard that he was a straw widower, invited him to dinner. 
But beyond expectation Plavitski, angry because he had 
not found Pani Yamish in Vantory, and mindful of his 
Sunday whist parties with “Gantos,” invited Gantovski 
too, in consequence of which the Polanyetskis drove ahead 
very hurriedly, so that Marynia might have time to make 
needful arrangements. Behind them came Plavitski and 
the councillor; Gantovski dragged on in the rear in his 
brichka drawn by a lean Yalbrykov nag. | Pyles 

Along the road Plavitski said to Councillor ¥ amish, — 


672 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


“T cannot tell you. My daughter is happy. He is a 
zood man and an energetic piece, but —” 

“But what?” asked Pan Yamish. 

“But flighty. Thou hast in mind, neighbor, that he 
pressed me so hard for some wretched twelve thousand 
rubles that I was forced to sell Kremen. And what then? 
Then he bought back that same Kremen. If he had not 
squeezed me, he would not have had to buy Kremen, for 
he would have had it for nothing with Marynia after my 
death. He is a good-natured man, but: here” (and while 
he was saying this, Plavitski tapped his forehead with his 
finger) ‘‘there is something lacking! What is true, is not 
a sin.” 

“Hm!” answered Yamish, who did not wish to cause 
bitterness to Plavitski by the remark that if Kremen had 
remained longer in Ais hands nothing would have been 
left of it. 

Plavitski sighed, and said, — 

‘‘But for me in my old age new toil, for now every- 
thing must go by my head.” 

With difficulty did Pan Yamish restrain himself from 
shouting, “ May God forbid!” but he knew Pan Stanislav 
well enough to know that there was no danger. Plavitski 
did not believe much in what he himself said; he was a 
little afraid of his son-in-law, and he knew well that now 
everything would go by another head. 

Thus conversing, they drove up to the porch. Marynia, 
who had arranged everything already for the dinner, re- 
ceived them with Stas in her arms. 

‘‘T wanted to present my son to you before we sat down 
to table,” said she; ‘‘a big son! a tremendous boy! a nice 
son! ” 

And in time to these words she began to sway him toward 
Pan Yamish. Pan Yamish touched Stas’s face with his 
fingers, whereupon the “nice son” first made a grimace, 
then smiled, and all at once gave out a sound which might 
have a certain exceptionally important meaning for investi- 
gators of “esoteric speech;” but for an ordinary ear it re- 
called wonderfully the cry of a magpie or a parrot. 

Meanwhile Gantovski came, and having hung up his over- 
coat on a peg in the entrance, he was looking in it for a 
handkerchief, when, by a strange chance, Rozulka, young 
Stas’s nurse, found herself also in the entrance, and ap- 
proaching Gantovski, embraced his knees, and then kissed 
his hands. 


he 


> 


CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 673 


“Oh! how art thou, how art thou? What wilt thou 
say?” asked the heir of Yalbrykov. 

‘‘Nothing! I only wished to make obeisance,” said 
Rozulka, submissively. 

Gantovski bent a little to one side, and began to search 
for something with his fingers in his breast pocket; but 
evidently she had come only to bow to the heir, for, with- 
out waiting for a gift, she kissed his hand again, and 
walked away quietly to the nursery. 

Gantovski went with a heavy face to the rest of the 
company, muttering to himself in bass, — 

“ Um-dree-dree! Um-dree-dree! Um-dramta-ta!” 

Then all sat down at the table, and a conversation began 
about the return of the Polanyetskis to the country. Pan 
Yamish, who, of himself, was an intelligent man, and, as 
a councillor, must be wise by virtue of his office, and elo- 
quent, turned to Pan Stanislav, and said, — 

“Vou come to the country without a knowledge of agri- 
culture, but with that which is lacking mainly to the bulk 
of our country residents, —a knowledge of administration, 
and capital. Hence, I trust, and Iam sure, that you will 
not come out badly in Kremen. Your return is for me a 
great joy, not only with reference to you and my beloved 
pupil, but because it is also a proof of what I say always, 
and assert, that the majority of us old people must leave 
the land; but our sons, and if not our sons, our grandsons, 
will come back; and will come back stronger, better 
trained in the struggle of life, with calculation in their 
heads, and with the traditions of work. Do you remember 
what I told you once, —that land attracts, and that it is 
genuine wealth? You contradicted me, then, but to-day 
—see, you are the owner of Kremen.” 

“That was through her, and for her,” answered Pan 
Stanislav, pointing to his wife. 

“Through her, and for her,” repeated the councillor; 
‘and do you think that in my theory there is no place for 
women, and that I do not know their value? They divine 
with heart and conscience where there is real obligation, 
and with their hearts they urge on to it. But land is a 
real obligation, as well as real wealth.” 

Here Pan Yamish, who, in the image and likeness of 
many councillors, had this weakness, that he was fond of 
listening to himself, closed his eyes, so as to listen still 
better, and continued, — 

43 


674 CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 


‘*Yes, you have returned through your wife! Yes, that 
is her merit; and God grant us that such women be born 
more frequently! But in your way you have all come out 
of the soil, and therefore soil attracts you. We ought to 
have the plough on our eseutcheons, all of us. And I tell 
you more, not only did Pan Stanislav Polanyetski return, 
not only did Pani Marynia Polanyetski return, but the 
family of the Polanyetskis returned, for in it was awakened 
the instinct of whole generations, who grew out of the soil, 
and whose dust is enriching it.” 

When he had said this, Pan Yamish rose, and taking a 
goblet, exclaimed, — 

“In the hands of Pani Polanyetski, the health of the 
family of the Polanyetskis!” 

“Yo the health of the family of the Polanyetskis!” 
cried Gantovski, who, having a feeling heart, was ready 
to forgive the family of the Polanyetskis all the sufferings 
of heart through which he had passed by reason of them. 

And all went with their glasses to Pani Marynia, who 
thanked them with emotion; but to Pan Stanislav, who 
approached her, she whispered, — 

** Ai, Stas, how happy I am!” 

But when all in the company found themselves again at 
their places, Papa Plavitski added, on his part, — 

“Keep the soil to the very last! that is what I have been 
advocating all my life.” 

“That is certain!” contirmed Gantovski. 

But in his soul he thought, “If it were not for those 
dog blood troubles! ” 

And at that very time, in the nursery, Roanlln was sing- 
ing little Stas to sleep with the sad village song, — 


“ Those ill-fated chambers. 
Oi, thou my Yasenku !” 


After dinner, the guests were making ready to separate; 
but Plavitski kept them for a “little party,” so that they 
went away only when the sun was near setting. Then the 
Polanyetskis, having amused themselves first with little 
Stas, went out on the porch, and further, to the garden, 
for the evening was calm and clear. Everything reminded 
them of that first Sunday which they had spent there 
together; it seemed to them like some wonderful and 
pleasant dream, and reminiscences of that kind were there 
without number at every step. The sun was going down 





CHILDREN OF THE SOIL. 675 


in the same way, large and shining; the trees stood motion- 
less in the stillness of evening, reddening at the tops from 
the evening light; on the other side of the house the storks 
were chattering in the same way on their nests; there was 
the same mood of all things around them, cherishing and 
vesperal. They began to walk about, to pass through all 
the alleys, go to the fences, look at the fields, which lost 
themselves in the distance, at the narrow strips of woods 
barring the horizon, and to say quiet things to each other, 
and also as quietly as that evening was quiet. All this 
which surrounded them was to be their world. Both felt 
that that village was taking them into itself; that some 
relation was beginning to weave itself between them and 
it; that henceforth their life must flow there, not else- 
where, — laborers, devoted to the “service of God” in the 
field. 

When the sun had gone down, they returned to the porch; 
but, as on that first occasion, so now they remained on it, 
waiting for perfect darkness. But formerly Marynia had 
kept at a distance from Pan Stanislav; now she nestled up 
to his side, and said, after some silence, — 

“Tt will be pleasant for us here with each other, Stas, 
will it not?” 

And he embraced her firmly, so as to feel her at his very 
heart, and said, — 

‘*My beloved, my greatly beloved!” 

Then from beyond the alder-trees, which were wrapped 
in haze, rose the ruddy moon; and the frogs in the ponds, 
having learned, evidently, that the lady had returned, she 
whom they had seen so often at the shore, called in the 
midst of the evening silence, in one great chorus, — 


“Glad! glad!” 


THE END. 





THE NOVELS OF HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ 


AUTHORIZED AND UNABRIDGED TRANSLATIONS 
By JEREMIAH CURTIN. 
PUBLISHED BY LITTLE, BROWN, & COMPANY. 





Just ready: a New Volwime——_ 
Hania. 


Translated from the Polish of Henryk Srenxrewicz, author 
of “Quo Vadis,” “ With Fire and Sword,” etc., by JEREMIAH 
Curtin. Crown 8vo. Cloth, with portrait. $2.00. 


“Hania,” the new volume by Sienkiewicz, has been carefully trans- 
lated from the Polish by Jeremiah Curtin, whose translations of “ Quo 
Vadis,” “ With Fire and Sword,” and the other writings of Sienkiewicz, 
have been so highly commended for their spirit and faithfulness by 
scholars and critics throughout the country. It is uniform in size and 
binding with Mr. Curtin’s translations of “Quo Vadis,” and the other 
works of Sienkiewicz, Library Edition, and contains a portrait of the 
author and his daughter, reproduced in photogravure from a photograph 
taken last summer in the’ Carpathian Mountains. 

The volume comprises over five hundred pages, about one-third being 
occupied by the story which gives the book its title, “Hania.” Itisa 
story of strength and tenderness and powerful characterization, its scene 
being laid in Poland. In addition to ‘“ Hania,” the volume includes the 
author’s latest story, “On the Bright Shore,” a romance of Monte 
Carlo; a philosophical religious story of the crucifixion entitled “ Let 
Us Follow Him,” which suggested to Sienkiewicz the idea of writing 
“Quo Vadis”; a sketch entitled “Tartar Captivity,” the germ of “ With 
Fire and Sword” and the other volumes of the great historical trilogy ; 
a humorous novelette entitled ‘‘ That Third Woman,” etc. 

The new book by the distinguished Polish writer is of great interest 
and power, and will doubtless have a wide sale. With the volumes 
previously issued it gives in a series of admirable translations a practi- 
cally complete set of the novels and romances of Sienkiewicz. 


Let Us Follow Him. 


Translated from the Polish of HENRYK SIENKIEWICzZ, by 
JEREMIAH CurTIN. 16mo. Cloth, extra, gilt top, with photo- 
gravure frontispiece by Epmunp H. GarRETT. 50 cents. 


Although “Let Us Follow Him” is included in the new volume by 
Sienkiewicz entitled ‘“ Hania,” its publication in a separate volume has 
been deemed advisable for the reason that this story gave to its author 
the idea of writing “Quo Vadis,” the literary sensation of the time. 

The period of “Let Us Follow Him” is that of the death of Christ. 
Antea, the wife of a Roman patrician, ill with terrible visions, is advised 
by a physician to seek the air of Jerusalem. There she and her husband 
meet Pilate, who tells them of the doctrine of the Nazarene, Jesus, and 
his condemnation to death. They are present at the crucifixion, and Antea 
gives honor to the condemned Nazarene, saying, “ Thou art Truth.” 

1 


u Quo Vadts.” 


“ Of intense intarest to the whole Christian civilization, — Chicago Tribune. 


“Quo Vapis.” A Narrative of the Time of Nero. By 
HenryYK SIENKIEWICZ, author of “With Fire and Sword,” 
“The Deluge,” etc. Translated from the Polish by JEREMIAH 
Curtin. Crown 8vo. Cloth, $2.00. 


One of the greatest books of our day. — Zhe Bookman. 

In all respects a surpassing work of fiction.— Mew York Herald. 

His understanding of the Roman heart is marvellous. — Boston 
Transcript. 

One of the strongest historical romances that have been written in the 
last half century. — Chicago Evening Post. 

Absorbingly interesting, brilliant in style, imposing in materials, and 
masterly in their handling. — Prowidence News. 

The portrait of Petronius is alone a masterpiece of which the greatest 
word-painters of any age might be proud.—Piiladelphia Church Standard. 

A book to which no review can do justice. A most noble historical 
romance, in which the reader never for a moment loses interest. — 
Detroit Free Press. ‘ 

One of the most remarkable books of the decade. It burns upon the 
brain the struggles and triumphs of the early Church. — Boston Daily 
Advertiser. 

With him we view, appalled, Rome, grand and awful, in her last 
throes. The picture of the giant Ursus struggling with the wild animals 
is one that will always hold place with such literary triumphs as that of 
the chariot race in “ Ben Hur.” — Boston Courier. 

The world needs such a book at intervals, to remind it again of the 
surpassing power and beauty of Christ’s central idea. . . . A climax [the 
scene in the arena] beside which the famous chariot race in “ Ben Hur” 
seems tame. — Chicago Tribune. 

Every chapter in it is eloquent with meaning. . . . The feasting at 
the imperial palace, the contests in the arena, the burning of Rome, the 
rescue of Lygia, the Christian maiden, — will hold their place in memory 
with unfading color, and are to be reckoned among the significant tri- 
umphs of narrative art.— 7he Boston Beacon. 

Without exaggeration it may be said that this is a great novel. 
It will become recognized by virtue of its own merits as the one heroic 
monument built by the modern novelist above the ruins of decadent 
Rome, and in honor of the blessed martyrs of the early Church. There 
are chapters in “Quo Vadis” so convincing, so vital, so absolute, that 
by comparison Lew. Wallace’s popular book seems tinsel, while Ware’s 
honest old “ Aurelian” sinks into insignificance. — Brooklyn Eagle. 


2 





With Fire and Sword. 


The only modern romance with which i b la 
Le y y 7 
; which can be Com ared for fire, sprighti- 


ness, rapidity of action, swift changes,and abs rbing interest is “* The Three 
Musketeers” of Dumas. — New York Tribune. 


With FirE aND Sworp. An Historical Novel of Poland 
and Russia. By Henryk Sienkiewicz. ‘Translated from the 
Polish by JEREMIAH CurTIN. With photogravure portrait of 
the author. Crown 8vo. Cloth, $2.00. 


“With Fire and Sword” is the first of a trilogy of historical romances 
of Poland, Russia, and Sweden. Their publication has been received 
throughout the United States by readers and critics as an event in 
literature. Action in the field has never before been described in any 
language so briefly, so vividly, and with such a marvellous expression 
of energy. The famous character of Zagloba has been described as 
“a curious and fascinating combination of Falstaff and Ulysses.” Charles 
Dudley Warner, in “ Harper’s Magazine,” affirms that the Polish author 
has in Zagloba given a new creation to literature. 


Wonderful in its strength and picturesqueness.— Boston Courier. 

A romance which, once read, ts not easily forgotten. — Literary World. 

One of the noblest works of historical romance ever written, — The Pilot. 

One of the most brilliant historical novels ever written.— Christian Union. 

A tremendous work in subject, size, and treatment.— Providence Journal. 

Not a tedious page in the entire magnificent story. — Boston Home 
Journal. 

The force of the work recalls certain elements of Wallenstein. — 
Boston Journal. 

The first of Polish novelists, past or present, and second to none novo 
living in England, France, or Germany.— Blackwood's Magazine. 

He exhibits the sustained power and sweep of narrative of Walter 
Scott and the humor of Cervantes. — Philadelphia Inquirer. 

The word painting is startlingly like some of the awesome paintings 
by Verestchagin. We do not feel over bold in saying that some of the 
character-drawing is Shakespearian. Where, outside of Shakespeare, 
can such a man as Zagloba be found?— Christian Advocate. 

A novel that like Thackeray’s “Henry Esmond” or Scott's “ Ivanhoe” 
can be returned to again and again. — Boston Gazette. 

Such a writer as Sienkiewicz, the Polish novelist, whose works belong 
with the very best of their class, and who has a kind of Shakesperian 
freshness, virility, and power of characterization, is sufficient to give 
dignity to the literature of a whole generation in his own country. His 
three novels on the Wars of the Polish Commonwealth, and his superb 
psychological story, “ Without Dogma,” form a permanent addition to 
modern literature. — Zhe Outlook. 

3 


The Deluge. 


It even surpasses in interest and power the same author's romance ‘‘ With 
Fire and Sword.’ ... The whole story swarms with brilliant pictures of war, 
and with personal episodes of battle and adventure.— New York Tribune. 


THe Detuce. An Historical Novel of Poland, Sweden, 
and Russia. By HENRYK SIENKIEWIcz. ‘Translated from the 
Polish by JEREMIAH CURTIN. A sequel to “With Fire and 
Sword.” With a map of the country at the period in which 
the events of “The Deluge” and “With Fire and Sword” 
take place. 2 vols. Crown 8vo. Cloth, $3.00, 


“The wars described in ‘The Deluge,’ ” says the translator, “are the 
most complicated and significant in the whole career of the Common- 
wealth.” The hero of the book, Pan Andrei Kmita, is delineated with 
remarkable power; and the wonderful development of his character — 
from the beginning of the book, when his nature is wild and untamed, 
to the end, when he becomes the savior of the King and the Common- 
wealth after almost unequalled devotion and self-sacrifice —gives this 
great historical romance a place even above “ With Fire and Sword.” 


Wonderfully vivid and life-like. — Congregationalist. 

Marvellous in its grand descriptions.—Chicago [nter-Ocean. 

The greatest living writer of the romance of incident.—Boston Courier. 

One of the direct anointed line of the kings of story-telling. — 
Literary World. 

Has the humor of a Cervantes and the grim vigor of Defoe. — Boston 
Gazette. 

A really great novelist. . . . To match this story one must turn to the 
masterpieces of Scott and Dumas. — Philadelphia Press. 


¥ 
Pan Michael. 


No word less than “ Excelsior” will justly describe the achievement of the 
trilogy of novels of which “ Pan Michael” is the last. — Baltimore American. 

Pan MicuarEL. An Historical Novel of Poland, Russia, 
and the Ukraine. By Henryk SIeENKIEWwICczZ. ‘Translated from 
the Polish by JEREMIAH CurTIN. A sequel to “With Fire and 
Sword ” and “The Deluge.” Crown 8vo. Cloth, $2.00. 

This work completes the great Polish trilogy. The period of the 
story is 1668-1674, and the principal historical event is the Turkish inva- 
sion of 1672. Pan Michael, a favorite character in the preceding stories, 
and the incomparable Zagloba figure throughout the novel. The most 


important historical character introduced is Sobieski, who was elected 
king in 1674. 


4 


Pan Michael (continued). 


The interest of the trilogy, both historical and romantic 
didly sustained. — 7%e Dial. 

A great novel. It abounds in creations. It is a fitting ending toa 
great trilogy, —a trilogy which teaches great lessons. — Aoston Adwertiser. 

May fairly be classed as Homeric. — 7he Boston Beacon. 

There is no falling off in interest in this third and last book of the 
series; again Sienkiewicz looms as one of the great novel writers of the 
world. — The Nation. 

From the artistic standpoint, to have created the character of Zag- 
loba was a feat comparable with Shakespeare’s creation of Falstall and 
Goethe’s creation of Mephistopheles. — 7%e Diad. 


¥ 


Without Dogma. 


Emphatically a human document read in the light of a great imagination, — 
Boston Beacon. 


, is splen- 


WitHout Docma. A Novel of Modern Poland. By Henayx 
SIENKIEWIcz. Translated from the Polish by Iza Youns. 
Crown 8vo. Cloth, $1.50. 


A psychological novel of modern thought, and of great power. Its 
utter contrast to the author’s historical romances exhibits in a most 
striking manner the remarkable variety of his genius. 


A triumph of psychology. — Chicago Times. 

A masterly piece of writing. — Pittsbure Bulletin. 

Belongs to a high order of fiction. — Mew York Times. 

Intellectually the novel is a masterpiece. — Christian Union. 

Self-analysis has never been carried further. — Colorado Springs 
Gazette. 

Worthy of study by all who seck to understand the human soul. — 
Boston Times. 

One of the most remarkable works of modern novelists. — Aw@nsar 
City Journal. 

Bold, original, and unconventional, and displays the most remarkable 
genius. — Boston Home Journal. 

In her beautiful simplicity, her womanly strength and purity, the 
woman stands forth, Beatrice-like, in strong contrast to the man. — Aalts- 
more American. 

Both absorbing and instructive. Distinctly a notable contribution to 
the mental and ethical history of the age. — Boston Courier. 


5 


Children of the Soil. 


A great novel, such as enriches the reader’s experience and extends his mental 
horizons. Ode can compare it only with the great Jictions of our great day, and 
in that comparison find it inferior to very few of the greatest. —W. D. HOWELLS 
in Harper’s Weekly. 


CHILDREN OF THE Som. ‘Translated from the Polish of 
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ, by JEREMIAH CURTIN, Crown 8vo, 
Cloth, $2.00. 


“Children of the Soil,” a novel of contemporary life in Poland, is a 
work of profound interest, written with that vividness and truthful pre 
cision which have made the author famous. The great question of the 
book is, What can a good and honorable woman do to assist a man in 
the present age in civilized society? The question is answered thor- 
oughly in “Children of the Soil.” 

A work of the very first order . . . which posterity will class among 
the chefs-d’euvre of the century. In this romance are manifested the 
noblest and rarest qualities that an author can possess: a wonderful 
delicacy of psychological analysis, an incomparable mastery of the art 
of painting characters and morals, and the rare and most invaluable 
faculty of making the characters live in the printed page. — Le Figaro, 
Paris, May 4, 1895. 

There is not a chapter without originality and a delightful, honest 
realism. — ew Haven Evening Leader. 


It must be reckoned among the finer fictions of our time, and shows 
its author to be almost as great a master in the field of the domestic 
novels as he had previously been shown to be in that of imaginative his- 
torical romance. — Chicago Dial. 

Few books of the century carry with them the profound moral sig- 
nificance of the “ Children of the Soil,” but the book is a work of art 
and not a sermon. Every page shows the hand of a master. — Chicago 
Chronicle. 

There are few pages that do not put in an interesting or amusing 
light some current doctrine or some fashion of the hour.— Wew York 
Critic. 

Not only as a finely elaborated and manifestly truthful depiction of 
contemporary Polish life, but as a drama of the human heart, inspired 
by the supreme principles of creative art, “Children of the Soil” is de- 
cidedly a book to be read and lingered over. — Boston Beacon. 

It is a book to sit with quietly and patiently, to read with conscience 
and comprehension awake and alert, to absorb with an open heart.— 
Providence News. 

This is a narrative long but full, rich in vitality, abounding in keen 
and exact characterization. — Milwaukee Sentinel. 


6 





SHORT STORIES BY SIENKIEWICZ. 
Yanko the Musician. 


His energy and imagination are gigant , 
ees ae Pest, gigantesque. He writes prose epics, ~ 
YANKO THE MUSICIAN, AND OTHER Srories. By Henryx 
SIENKIEWIcz. ‘Translated from the Polish by Jeremiuanu Cur- 
TIN. With Illustrations by EpmMunp H. Garrerr. 16mo 
Cloth, extra, gilt top, $1.25. 


CONTENTS.— 1. YANKO THE Musician; II, Tue Licut-nousr 
KEEPER OF ASPINWALL; III. FROM THE Diary or a TUTOR IN 
Poznan; IV. A ComMEDY oF ERRORS, A SKETCH OF AMERICAN 
LirE; V. BARTEK THE VICTOR. 

A series of studies of the impressionist order, full of light and color 
delicate in sentiment, and exquisite in technical expression. — /esfon 
Beacon. 

The stories are deeply intellectual. — Piiladelphia Public Ledger. 

The note of patriotism, of love of home, is strong in all these stories. 
Chicago Figaro. 

Full of powerful interest. — Boston Courier. 

Models of simplicity. — Brooklyn Eagle. 

The simple story of the lighthouse man is a masterpiece. —New Yor 
Times. 

They have all the charm of the author’s manner. — Public Opinion, 

The tale of Yanko has wonderful pathos. — Chicago Herald. 


Lillian Morris, and Other Stories. 


Lmuan Morris, AND OTHER STORIES. Translated from the 
Polish of HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ by JEREMIAH CuRTIN.  Illus- 
trated by Epmunp H. GARRETT. 16mo. Cloth, extra, gilt 
top, $1.25. 

CONTENTS. — 1. LILLIAN Morris; II. SAcHEM; III. ANGEL; 
IV. THE BULL-FIGHT. 

The reminiscence of Spain which describes a bull-fight in Madrid is 
a realistic and rather brilliant sketch, — one of the most effective ac- 
counts of the Spanish national sport one is likely to find. — Aewiew of 


Reviews. 
“Yamyol” in this new collection is written with awful intensity and 


marvellous power. This little tale is a masterpiece of literary work, and 
its effect on the reader extraordinary. 
All the stories are remarkable. — Liferary World. 


7 


Opinions regarding Mr. Curtin’s Translations. 
FFFSSSF 


F rom the LI have read with diligent attention all the volumes of my 
A u t h or quorks sent me (A merican Ldition). LI understand how great the 
* difficulties were which you had to overcome, especially in trans- 
lating the historical novels, the language of which is somewhat 

archaic in character. 

I admire not only the sincere conscientiousness and accuracy, 
but also the skill, with which you did the work. 

Your countrymen will establish your merit better than I; as 
to me, I can only desire that you and no one else should translate 
all that 1 write. 

With respect and friendship, 


HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 


With Fire The translation appears to be faithful, for none of the glow 
nd and vigor of the great Polish novelist are missing, and the 
ail work is indeed a triumph of genius. — Chicago Mail. 
Sword. Mr. Curtin’s admirable translation of this brilliant historical 
romance may be said to have taken the literary critics of the 
day by storm. — Portland Advertiser. 

Mr. Curtin deserves the gratitude of the English-speaking 
public for his most excellent and spirited translation. We 
have to thank him for an important contribution to the number 
of really successful historical novels and for a notable enlarge- 
ment of our understanding of a people whose unhappy fate 
has deserved the deepest sympathy of the world. — Chicago 
Evening Post. 

Mr. Jeremiah Curtin shows uncommon ability in transla- 
tion; he conveys in accurate and nervous English the charm 
of the Polish original, frequently exercising much ingenuity in 
the treatment of colloquial idioms. — Literary World. 

The English-reading world cannot be too grateful to Mr. 
Curtin for rendering this masterpiece among historical novels 
into such luminous, stirring English. He has brought both 
skill and enthusiasm to his work, and has succeeded in giving 
us a thorough Polish work in English dress. — Pittsburg 
Chronicle Telegraph. 

Mr. Curtin’s style of translation is excellent and apparently 
faithful, and he is entitled to the thanks of the English-reading 
public for revealing this new and powerful genius. — Providence 
Journal. 

It is admirably translated by that remarkable, almost phe- 
nomenal, philologist and Slavonic scholar, Jeremiah Curtin, so 
long a resident of Russia, and at one time secretary of legation 
there. — Brooklyn Eagle. 


8 








Deluge. 


Pan 
Michael. 


Children 
of the 
Soil. 


Short 
Stories. 


Mr. Curtin has done the translation so well that the pecu- 
liarities of the author’s style have been preserved with great 
distinctness. — Detroit Tribune. 

This story, like its predecessor, has been translated from 
the Polish by Jeremiah Curtin in a way that makes its stirring 
or delightful scenes appear to have been written Originally in 
English. — Brooklyn Daily Eagle. 

Too much cannot be said in praise of the conscientious and 
beautiful work of the translator. — Chathanooga Times. 

Of Mr. Curtin’s share in “ The Deluge,” there are no words 
to express its excellence except “it is perfect.” Fortunate 
Mr. Sienkiewicz to have such an interpreter! Fortunate Mr. 
Curtin to have such a field in which to exercise his skill! — 
Boston Times. 

Mr. Jeremiah Curtin has accomplished his task with that 
sympathy and close scholarship which have always distin- 
guished his labors. — Boston Saturday Evening Gasette, 

The translation is full of sympathy, of vigor, and of ele 
gance. The translator has accomplished the difficult task of 
preserving the spirit of the original without failing in the 
requirement of the tongue in which he was writing, and the 
result is a triumph of the translator’s art. He has done a 
great service to the English reader, while he has at the same 
time made for himself a monument which would cause his 
name long to be remembered, even had he no other claims 
upon public gratitude. — Boston Courier. 


The fidelity of Mr. Curtin’s translation to the original can 
only be judged by internal evidence. That would seem to be 
conclusive. The style is vigorous and striking. — Cleveland 
Plain Dealer. 


The translation is quite up to Mr. Curtin’s excellence. — 
Brooklyn Eagle. 

Like all Mr. Jeremiah Curtin’s work, the translation is 
excellent.— Vew York Times. 

Mr. Curtin has made his translation with that exquisite 
command of English and breadth of knowledge characteristic 
of him. — Boston Beacon. 

The translation is beyond criticism. — Boston Home Journal. 


The style of all the pieces, as Englished by Mr. Curtin, is 
singularly clear and delicate, after the manner of the finished 
French artists in language. — Review of Reviews. 

Mr. Curtin has certainly caught the verve of the original, 
and in his rendering we can still feel the warmth of the author's 
own inspiration. — Vew Haven Register. 

The translation from the Polish of all of Sienkiewicz’s 
works has been made by Mr. Jeremiah Curtin, and it is suffi- 
cient to say that it has received the unqualified praise of 
scholars both in this country and in England. — Boston Home 
Journal. 


9 


ee ou The literary world is indebted to Mr. Curtin for his 

+9» admirable work.— Aft/waukee Journal. 

Vadis. The translation is all that can be desired. It is difficult to 
conceive that the book can be more effective in its native 
tongue. — Cleveland World. 

Mr. Curtin has adequately translated the complicated plot, 
giving full scope to the imaginative qualities of the author’s 
genius. — Aoston Herald. 

Mr. Curtin in his translation has so preserved the spirit of 
the original that in his English version almost every page is 
eloquent with meaning. — Jersey City Journal. 

Mr. Curtin’s translation is of that satisfying, artistic order 
that one always expects and obtains from him. To the reader’s ~ 
thought, author and translator are one, so perfect is the mutual 
understanding. — Aoston Ideas. 

It is a good deal to be thankful for that such a book is 
made into the English language ; and for doing that so famously 
well, Mr. Jeremiah Curtin is entitled to the blessings of a 
romance-loving public. — Providence News. 

Mr. Curtin’s English is so limpid and fluent that one finds 
it difficult to realize that he is reading a translation. In fact, 
it is so perfect that one never thinks about it until he has 
received the impression which the author intends to convey 
and begins to ask himself how the impression is made. Then, 
indeed, he perceives that he owes a debt not only to the author, 
but to the translator who has made so great a work accessible 
to him. — Philadelphia Church Standard. 

But our debt to Sienkiewicz is not less than our debt to his 
translator and friend, Jeremiah Curtin. The diversity of the 
language, the rapid flow of thought, the picturesque imagery 
of the descriptions are all his. The purity of the English, the 
accuracy of abstract expressions, the specific apposition of 
word to object is remarkable. The work would stand alone as 
a model of English prose, and might well be read with profit 
merely as an example of combined narrative and description 
Mr. Curtin has done good work before in his translation of 
Sienkiewicz; he has surpassed himself in his Englishing of 
“Quo Vadis.” — Boston Transcript. 

No brain and hand were better fitted by nature and wide 
experience to assume the task of reanimating the work of 
Sienkiewicz into English than those of Mr. Curtin. A cosmop- 
olite, but few countries in the world have escaped a prolonged 
visit by him, and indeed he is the complete and thorough 
master of seven languages. Thus equipped, and unexcelled 
as a linguist and man of letters, he has given us the unsur- 
passed translation of “ With Fire and Sword,” “ The Deluge,” 
“Pan Michael,” and the lesser romances of Henryk Sienkiewicz; 
and now the supreme effort, ‘Quo Vadis,” a tragic romance of 
the unspeakable days of the Roman Empire under the terrible 
Nero. Here is a translation indeed !— Boston Courier. 


10 





A REMARKABLE BOOK. 


Affording Laughter and Entertainment for Young ard Old. 


Miss Belladonna, “00% 
By CAROLINE TICKNOR, kee 
Author of “A Hypocritical Romance and Other Stories.” 


Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman. 
16mo. Cloth, extra, gilt top. $1.50. 


A FEW PRESS OPINIONS. 


It is a clever bit of work, and possesses the merit, not frequently 
found in fiction for children, of being equally interesting to readers of 
more mature years. No one will be sorry for having spent an hour in 
its perusal. — Pittsburgh News. 

It is uproariously funny, and displays unusual shrewdness in light 
ing up the foibles of human nature. . . . The character of the fascinating 
little heroine is what holds the story together. Her keen sayings are 
extremely bright and amusing; yet they come naturally from the lips of 
this spunky and determined young lady who is not fettered by foolish 
illusions. — Boston Herald. 

One of the very cleverest books of the season. From first to last 
the book is thoroughly enjoyable. — Boston Transcript. 

The reader who appreciates spontaneous, vivacious, and original 
humor, fresh and sparkling, without the slightest taint of coarseness or 
vulgarity and with just an appetizing dash of satire, will be delighted 
with Miss Caroline Ticknor’s “Miss Belladonna,” a child of to-day. — 
Cleveland Plain Dealer. 

From the first page to the last “Miss Belladonna” is a laughter- 
provoking story. — 7he Beacon. 

If the children find as much amusement in it as did the reviewer, 
they will have no reason to complain. — Public Opinion. 

Since the days of Miss Ferrier and Miss Edgeworth fiction has 
known no spoiled child to compare with Miss Belladonna, who gives her 
name to Miss Caroline Ticknor’s new book. — New York Times. 

There is a vast deal of entertainment in the book. Indeed, every 
page furnishes from one to a dozen laughs. The children in it are 
very much alive, —and what can be more entertaining than really live 
children ?— Providence News. 

The impressions, experiences, criticisms, and scrapes of a group of 
very original small children are told in “ Miss Belladonna.” — Zhe Outlot. 


LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY, Publishers, 
254 Washington Street, Boston. 


MISS FARMER'S COOK BOOK. 


The Latest Contribution to this Important Subject. 


SCIENTIFIC YET SIMPLE. 
CONTAINS 1400 RECIPES. 1 
THOROUGHLY UP TO DATE. 
SHOULD BE IN EVERY HOUSEHOLD. 


THE BOSTON COOKING-SCHOOL COOK BOOK. 


By FANNIE MERRITT FARMER, 
PRINCIPAL OF THE BOSTON COOKING SCHOOL. 


I2mo. Cloth. 600 pages, with 35 illustrations. Price, $2.00. 
For sale everywhere, ar sent, postpaid, by the Publishers, on receipt of the price. 





PRESS NOTICES. 


The Review of Reviews. 

Offers many helpful suggestions. It is one of the fruits of the wisely 
conducted work of the Boston Cooking-School, a model institution of 
its class. 

Brooklyn Times. 
The book is admirably comprehensive, and the information is clearly 
and concisely given. 
Detroit Free Press. 
One of the best and most practical cook books we have seen in a long time. 
Massachusetts Ploughman. 

The book is fully equal to the highest expectations of those who have 
been looking forward to its appearance. J? gives one the impression of 
being packed full of good things. It covers the whole subject of the culi- 
nary art in a very comprehensive way, and nothing which can be of any 
assistance to the housekeeper in this direction has been omitted. 

Boston Cooking-School Magazine. 

The work of a tireless, energetic, and enthusiastic teacher. As a 
standard authority on the subject of practical and scientific cookery, we 
. are confident that zt wil/ take its rightful place in countless households. 

Chicago Inter-Ocean. | 

Thoroughly practical and easily understood ; and its recipes are made | 
so plain, and all described so accurately, as to need no other instructor to 
the intelligent woman. A thoroughly good book, which would be a boon . 
if taken into one million homes and studied and its rules put into practice. 

The New York Woman’s World. 

If one were asked off-hand to name the best cook book on the market, 
it would not be strange if Ze Boston Coeking-School Cook Book were 
named. 
The Outlook. 

Needs no comment to invite public confidence in it. The method of . 
the school is in line with the latest progress in the science of foods. Zhe 
recipes are compounded with a knowledge of the science of cooking. 


LITTLE, BROWN, & CO0., Publishers, 254 Washington St., Boston. 








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